LIBRARY    1 

UNIVERSITY  OP 

CAtJfOPNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
k-                          J 

i 

: 

15473 


SHELLS 


SHELLS 


FROM    THE 


STRAND  OF  THE  SEA  OF  GENIUS 


BY  HARRIET  FARLEY. 


FIRST  SERIES. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  MUNROE  AND  COMPANY. 


MDCCCXLVII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congrnv.i,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

JAMES  MUNROE  &  COMPANY, 
in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


BOSTON: 

PRINTED  BY  THURSTON,  TORRY  &;  CO. 
31  Devonshire  Stieet. 


DEDICATED 
Co    ntg  JFat&er    anfc 


WHO  gave  me  that  education  which  has  enlivened  years  of 

labor  ;   and,  while  constituting  my  own  happiness, 

has  enabled  me  to  contribute  to  the 

enjoyment  of  others. 


PREFACE. 


THESE  stories,  essays,  and  fancies,  have  been  col 
lected  at  the  suggestion  of  several  kind  and  highly 
esteemed  friends,  who  seemed  to  think  that  others 
might  be  as  much  gratified  with  their  versatility  of 
style  and  sentiment  as  they  have  been. 

Most  of  them  were  first  published  in  the  LOWELL 
OFFERING,  hastily  written,  and  but  slightly  revised. 

The  writer  must  crave  indulgence  from  the  critics, 
and  more  especially  for  her  rhymes.  Some  of  them 
are  very  faulty  in  rhythm,  and  altogether  too  bad  to 
be  mended.  Whether  they  are  worthy  of  publication 
she  leaves  for  the  reader  to  decide. 

A  collection  of  shells,  not  intrinsically  beautiful, 
may  by  a  tasteful  arrangement  produce  a  very  pleas 
ing  effect.  This  merit  her  work  does  not  possess. 
The  original  design  was  broken  by  a  request  for  matter 
to  enlarge  the  book,  and  the  sketches  included  between 
pages  147  and  224,  were  prepared  after  those  preced 
ing  them  were  printed. 


X  PREFACE. 

Should  the  sale  of  this  work  authorize  the  publica 
tion  of  another  volume,  it  will  be  succeeded  by  a 
Second  Series,  containing  The  Princess,  an  Oriental 
Fairy  Tale ;  Garftlena,  the  Songstress,  a  Hungarian 
Tale;  and  Ermengarde  of  the  Rhine,  and  the  Dia 
mond  King. 

She  trusts  that  these  shells,  started  from  their 
depths  by  the  bold  and  skilful  navigator,  yet  collected 
by  a  hasty  and  humble  wanderer  upon  the  shore,  may 
not  be  deemed  utterly  unworthy  of  a  place  in  the  cab 
inet  or  the  parlor. 

H.  F. 

SHADY  NOOK, 
January,    1847. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  SEA  OF  GENIUS  1 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  SCIENCE        .             .             .             .  11 

THE  GARDEN  OF  SCIENCE       .             .             .             .  .14 

AN  ALLEGORY     ......  17 

AMBITION  AND  CONTENTMENT            .             .             .  .22 

ANCIENT  POETRY             .....  32 

GLORY  OF  LIGHT       .             .             .             .              .  .36 

A  WEAVER'S  REVERIE     .....  40 

JOANNE  OF  ARC        .            .             .            .            .  .44 

ABBY'S  YEAR  IN  LOWELL            ....  56 

THE  FIRST  BELLS      .             .             .              .             .  .67 

A  FRAGMENT      ......  78 

FATHER  MOODY           .             .              .             .             .  .81 

DEAL  GENTLY     ......  88 

THE  PHILOSOPHER     .              .              .              .             .  .92 

FACTORY  ROMANCE         .....  100 

WOMAN              .                  .                   .                  .                  .                   .  .115 

ARISTOCRACY    OF    EMPLOYMENT     .                   .                   .                  .  121 

THE    UNSETTING    SUN  .....       132 

THE    PORTRAIT    GALLERY                   ....  147 

THE    COUNTRY    LAWYER  .....        180 

THE    PATCHWORK    QUILT                    ....  183 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

VILLAGE    PASTORS         ......  191 

THE   FURBELOWED    BONNET              .                  .                   .  207 
SCENES    ON    THE    MERRIMAC    .                   .                   .                   .                   .214 

THE    MAN    OUT    OF    THE    MOON       ....  224 

THE    WINDOW    DARKENED           .....  236 

POETICAL   PIECES. 

LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  COMET     ....  243 

THE  MOUSE'S  VISIT         .....  248 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  SHOE        .....  252 

THE  SEQUESTERED  HARP              ....  255 

THE  TASK  OF  DEATH              .....  259 

LAST  EFFORT  OF  THE  POETESS  ....  270 

THE  TRUE  MOURNER              .....  272 

"HE  IS  NOT  HERE HE  IS  RISEN"      .            .            .  274 

LAMENT  OF  THE  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK             .              .             .  276 

THE  LAME  CHILD  TO  HER  MOTHER         .             .             .  280 

THE  DREAM-LAND      ......  283 

ROOM  FOR  THE  DEAD      .....  286 

THE  HEATHEN  WIFE                                                                     .  289 


SHELLS 

FROM  THE  STRAND  OF  THE  SEA  OF  GENIUS. 


THE  SEA  OF   GENIUS. 

ONE  lovely  summer  evening,  I  sat  reading  the  fas 
cinating  production  of  one  of  our  female  authors.  The 
brilliant  hues  of  sunset  had  faded  from  the  western 
horizon ;  twilight  had  deepened  into  darkness  ;  the 
Queen  of  Night  had  arisen  in  her  soft  splendor  ;  all 
sounds  of  man  and  beast  were  stilled ;  and  the  hush 
of  midnight  was  upon  all  Nature.  Yet,  unheeding  this, 
I  sat  entranced  by  visions  of  fancy,  far  more  beautiful 
than  aught  with  which  earth  could  present  me  ;  and 
not  till  the  last  page  was  perused,  and  reperused,  by 
eyes  which  were  loath  to  turn  from  it,  was  the  en 
chantment  over.  And  then  arose  a  deep,  irrepressible 
wish  that  /  too  might  possess  the  gift  of  genius ;  that 
I  might  shine  a  brilliant  star  in  the  literary  galaxy, 
and  throw  a  spell  around  the  hearts  of  others,  even  as 
mine  own  had  been  enthralled  this  night.  .-;t 

And  yet  I  know  it  to  be  a  fearful  gift ;  too  often 
bringing  upon  its  envied  possessor  poverty,,  censure, 
I 


2  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

obloquy,  madness  and  premature  death.  It  is  the  key 
of  a  fated  chamber,  which  no  threat  nor  warning  can 
deter  its  possessor  from  entering,  though  she  may 
vainly  regret  the  act  when  she  sees  that  it  is  filled 
with  nought  but  blood,  horror,  and  decay ;  and  from 
the  consequences  of  her  rash  conduct,  too  seldom  does 
the  Selim  of  plain,  practical  common  sense,  come  to 
rescue  his  presumptuous  Fatima. 

Those  who  in  olden  time  invented  tales  of  mortals 
who,  for  a  few  years  of  supernatural  power  over  their 
fellow  beings,  sold  themselves  for  all  eternity  to  the 
Prince  of  Darkness,  were  not  ignorant  of  the  human 
heart.  They  knew  of  a  chord  which  vibrates  in  many 
a  bosom ;  and  I  now  felt  the  discord  which  its  touch 
could  create  in  my  own  mind.  My  feelings  were  pain 
fully  aroused,  and  I  went  to  my  window  that  I  might 
look  upon  the  sparkling  canopy  of  heaven  ;  for  when 
murmuring  thoughts  arise  within  me,  I  love  to  look 
upon  the  stars  —  not  upon  the  brighter  ones,  though 
they  shine  so  unconscious  of  their  loveliness ;  but,  ra 
ther, 

Would  look  upon  some  little  star, 

Which  is  so  faint,  and  very  far, 

I  almost  think  I  gaze  on  air, 

And  doubt  if  aught  be  gleaming  there. 

For  the  little  stars  say  not  one  to  another,  "I  am  not 
Sirius,  nor  Arcturus,  nor  Aldebaran,  and  no  one  will 
heed  me,  and  take  note  of  my  feeble  rays;  "  but  they 
come  modestly  out  after  their  more  brilliant  sisters; 
and  as  darkness  gathers  around  them,  they  send  forth 
brighter  and  brighter  rays,  and  give  to  the  night-sky 
its  beauty. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  3 

Even  thus  may  we,  like  the  lesser  stars,  come  forth 
in  our  humble  stations  of  life,  unenvious  of  those  who 
shine  in  wealth,  power  and  splendor ;  and  when  trials, 
sorrows  and  gloom  gather  about  us,  may  we  put  forth 
every  power,  and  do  all  that  in  us  lies  to  make  life 
gladsome. 

Thus  I  mused  as  I  gazed  upon  the  stars,  and  such 
the  lesson  I  learned  from  "Heaven's  own  alphabet;  " 
but  when  my  mind  had  become  more  calm  and  tran 
quil,  they  began  to  fade  away.  Fainter  grew  the  stars, 
and  blacker  the  sky,  till  I  was  left  in  darkness.  And 
with  the  sight  of  those  lovely  orbs,  their  sweet  influ 
ence  also  passed  away ;  and  again  arose  within  me  the 
yearning  desire  for  a  gift  which  might  never  be  mine. 
In  the  earnestness  of  my  spirit,  I  prayed  for  it  aloud, 
and  called  wildly  on  INSPIRATION. 

Scarcely  had  I  spoken,  ere  I  saw  a  being  approach 
ing  me  through  the  gloom.  His  form  was  tall  and 
majestic ;  his  white  robes  floated  gracefully  about  him, 
as  thin  and  light  as  a  summer  cloud ;  his  long  silvery 
locks  hung  loosely  over  his  shoulders  ;  his  sunken 
cheek  and  lofty  brow  were  like  polished  marble ;  and 
his  large  black  liquid  eyes  were  full  of  a  brightness 
like  the  light  which  flashes  up  when  the  sun  shines  on 
a  deep  fountain.  He  cast  upon  me  a  mingled  glance 
of  sorrow  and  rebuke,  and  then  said,  "  Come  with  me." 
So  I  followed  him.  guided  through  the  darkness  by  the 
brightness  of  his  garments ;  for  I  knew  that  it  was  he 
upon  whom  I  had  called,  and  that  Inspiration  now 
conducted  me. 

At  length  he  stopped  ;  and  turning,  said  to  me, 
"  What  seest  thou  ?  "  I  replied,  "  There  are  dim  shad- 


4  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

ows  about  me,  and  I  can  see  nothing  distinctly.'"' 
"  Thine  eye,"  said  he,  "  will  soon  become  more  accus 
tomed  ;  but  tell  me  what  thou  hearest  1 "  And  I  said, 
"I  hear  a  loud,  confused  sound,  as  of  many  troubled 
waters."  "  Thou  hast  heard  aright."  said  Inspiration ; 
"  but  look  again,  and  tell  me  what  thou  seest."  I  re 
plied,  "We  are  standing  on  the  shore  of  a  vast  sea, 
the  waters  of  which  are  rough,  black  and  stormy : 
there  are  many  ships  of  different  sizes  on  the  tossing 
waves,  and  a  low  black  cloud  is  over  us  and  them. 
Tell  me,  what  is  the  sea,  and  whose  are  the  vessels? " 

Inspiration  replied,  "The  sea  before  thee  is  the  Sea 
of  Genius,  and  the  vessels  are  the  creations  of  those 
who  inhabit  and  conduct  them.  They  are  built,  in 
scribed,  and  ornamented  according  to  my  suggestions ; 
and  none  but  those  on  whom  I  bestow  my  directions 
and  counsels,  can  make  a  bark  which  will  long 
weather  those  tempestuous  waters.  True,  there  are 
those  who,  by  much  industry  and  skilful  imitation, 
will  construct  a  vessel,  and  launch  upon  the  Sea  of 
Genius;  but, while  there,  they  are  the  sport  of  the 
winds  and  waves,  and  are  soon  tossed  upon  the  strand, 
where  for  a  short  time  they  remain  dismantled  wrecks, 
and  then  crumble  to  pieces.  Those,  on  the  contrary, 
whom  I  choose  to  favor  with  my  assistance,  can  make 
a  ship  which  will  last  long  after  the  builder's  hand  has 
crumbled  into  dust,  and  his  career  across  yon  sea  has 
been  for  many  ages  ended.  Walk  with  me  upon  the 
shore,  and  see  those  noble  vessels  which  long  have 
been,  and  long  will  be,  the  admiration  of  your  race." 

So  I  walked  with  Inspiration  on  the  strand,  which 
was  covered  with  vessels  of  many  forms  and  sizes. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  O 

The  first  which  I  noticed  was  a  noble  ship,  which, 
though  it  bore  the  marks  of  ages  long  gone  by,  was 
still  sound  and  unshattered.  Many  men  had  gathered 
around  it,  and  were  viewing  with  deep  interest  the 
imagery  and  inscriptions  with  which  it  was  covered. 
But  the  language  was  unknown  to  me,  and  Inspiration 
bade  me  listen  to  the  interpreters.  I  heard  them  tell 
strange  deeds  of  beings  unlike  us,  and  I  also  listened 
to  tales  of  the  heroes  of  other  days.  I  lingered  not 
long,  however,  for  but  few  of  my  sex  were  there ;  yet 
ere  I  left  I  looked  upon  the  name,  and  found  that  it 
was  HOMER. 

Farther  on,  there  was  another  vessel,  on  which  was 
the  name  of  Virgil.  Again  I  listened  awhile  to  the 
interpreters ;  and  then  I  passed  on  by  many  other  ves 
sels,  until  I  came  to  those  inscribed  with  the  language 
which  I  knew.  I  saw  the  names  of  Churchill,  Chat 
ter  ton,  Spenser,  Dryden,  and  others;  but  one  particularly 
attracted  my  attention,  by  its  size  and  beauty,  and  the 
vast  multitudes  gathered  around  it.  Among  them  were 
interpreters  of  different  tongues,  but  I  could  now  look 
upon  the  noble  ship  itself,  and  read  with  my  own  eyes 
its  numerous  inscriptions,  and  admire  its  richly  traced 
imagery.  I  read  the  tales  of  other  climes,  and  other 
days ;  and  wondered  at  the  vastness  and  versatility  of 
the  talent  of  him  who  could  thus  enrich  and  beautify 
this  majestic  ship.  The  name  of  it  was  Shakspeare. 

I  looked  also  on  another  noble  ship,  on  which  was 
the  name  of  Milton.  I  saw  there  depicted  earthly 
scenes  of  more  than  earthly  beauty,  and  also  viewed 
the  pictures  of  other  worlds. 

I  saw,  too,  a  darkly  colored  vessel,  inscribed  with 
1* 


O  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

many  melancholy  scenes,  the  name  of  which  was 
Yotmg.  And  another,  upon  which  were  delicately 
traced  many  sad  and  many  pleasing  pictures,  and 
scenes  of  sweet  domestic  life.  The  name  of  it  was 
Cowper.  And  one,  which  bore  the  name  of  Thomson, 
was  covered  with  copies  of  Nature's  loveliest  scenery, 
and  inscribed  with  many  pleasing  sentiments. 

T  gazed  with  pleasure  on  a  ship  which  at  first  I 
thought  a  very  ancient  one,  for  it  had  been  covered 
Avith  old  moss  and  withered  leaves,  and  the  inscriptions 
were  of  long  past  times.  The  name  of  it  was  Ossian. 

There  were  also  two  beautiful  ships,  in  whose  con 
struction  Inspiration  had  evidently  been  prodigal  of  his 
instructions.  The  names  of  these  were  Burns  and 
Byron.  The  first  was  built  of  Highland  oak ;  and  its 
rough  appearance  indicated  massy  strength,  and  prom 
ised  durability.  The  other,  though  evidently  as  strong, 
was  smooth  as  polished  metal.  Both  were  inscribed 
Avith  beautiful  thoughts,  and  on  both  Avere  depicted 
scenes  on  Avhich  it  pained  me  to  look.  "Thou  didst 
much  for  them  both,"  said  I  to  Inspiration.  "  And 
much  in  vain,"  Avas  his  reply. 

I  looked  also  on  many  other  vessels,  for  they  had  be 
come  more  numerous  as  I  passed  on,  and  the  shore  Avas 
more  thickly  strown  Avith  the  remains  of  those  which 
had  gone  to  Avreck.  Some  had  crumbled  to  atoms,  and 
others  Avere  loosely  holding  together.  "These,"  said 
Inspiration,  as  he  picked  up  some  scattered  remnants, 
"Avere  the  productions  of  those  Avho  vainly  imagined 
they  could  build  a  durable  ship  Avithout  my  assistance. 
Fools  are  they  Avho  long  to  embark  upon  those  stormy 
Avaves,  unless  they  know  that  my  voice  will  cheer  and 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  7 

encourage  them.  Look  again,  vain  mortal!  on  the 
Sea  of  Genius,  for  thy  more  accustomed  eye  can  dis 
cern  the  inscriptions  on  the  vessels  which  are  now 
careering  there." 

So  I  looked  again  upon  the  sea,  and  the  ships  thereon; 
and  I  now  saw  that  the  waters  were  not  alike  rough 
on  every  part  of  its  surface;  but  while  in  some  places 
the  tossing  waves  foamed  angrily,  in  others  they  were 
almost  calm  and  placid.  I  saw,  too,  that  above  us  was 
not  one  single  cloud,  but  a  mingled  mass  of  light  and 
darker  vapors,  though  all  of  a  sombre  hue.  The  winds 
were  not  alike  favorable  to  all  the  vessels,  but  some 
were  gaily  wafted  on,  and  others  impelled  with  violence. 
I  fixed  my  eye  on  a  bark  remarkable  for  its  beauty  and 
dimensions.  I  thought  at  first  that  the  name  of  it  was 
The  Great  Unknown:  but  after  looking  longer,  I  saw 
that  it  was  the  Walter  Scott.  It  skimmed  lightly  along 
the  rough  waves,  and  it  was  evident  that  a  buoyant  heart 
and  skilful  hand  were  at  the  helm.  Many  thronged 
the  shore  to  watch  its  beauteous  career,  and  listen  to 
the  voice  which  could  sing  so  many  different  lays.  But 
at  length  a  dark  cloud  gathered  above  that  noble  ship ; 
strong  winds  arose  to  retard  its  course,  and  agitate  the 
sea  around  it.  Yet  proudly  on  it  went  over  the  dark 
waters,  and  new  energies  were  put  forth  to  hasten  its 
course.  Farther  on  was  a  lighter  sky  and  smoother 
sea,  and  a  gazing  multitude  hoped  soon  to  see  that  glo 
rious  struggle  ended;  but  at  length  the  voice  ceased,  the 
hand  dropped,  the  form  had  vanished,  and  the  ship 
came  to  the  shore  amidst  a  long  loud  wail  from  many 
hearts. 

"  He  was  thy  favorite,"  said  I  to  Inspiration.     "Yet 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

he  was  not  wholly  devoted  to  me,"  was  his  reply. — 
"When  those  I  have  thus  cherished,  look  to  worldly 
pomp  and  splendor  to  enhance  their  happiness,  I  often 
desert  them ;  but  I  never  left  him.  I  could  not  leave  him." 

Again  I  looked  upon  the  sea,  and  saw  a  lovely  ship 
with  snowy  sails,  wending  its  way  across  the  dark 
waters.  The  name  of  it  was  Henums,  and  beautiful 
was  the  imagery  with  which  she  had  adorned  her  bark, 
and  plaintively  sweet  the  voice  which  proceeded  from 
it.  The  sky  was  lowering,  and  the  winds  blew  rough, 
and  none  seemed  to  favor  her  but  Inspiration.  Bright 
was  her  course  amid  the  storm;  and  deep  was  the  sor 
row  of  an  admiring  crowd,  when  the  deserted  vessel 
struck  the  strand. 

I  saw  another  beautiful  ship  playfully  bounding  over 
the  waves,  on  which  was  the  name  of  Howitt ;  and 
another  on  which  were  the  initials  of  L.  E.  L. ;  but  a 
dark  cloud  came  over  the  latter,  and  with  a  sudden 
plunge,  it  sank  into  the  sea,  and  then  floated  a  deserted 
vessel  to  the  shore. 

I  looked  also  on  others  which  seemed  even  nearer  to 
me,  and  which  bore  the  names  of  Irving,  Cooper,  Wil 
lis,  Bryant,  Gould,  Sigourney,  and  Sedgwick.  And 
once  a  little  fairy  skiff  appeared  upon  the  Sea  of  Genius. 
A  childish  form  was  at  the  helm,  and  a  sweet  voice 
arose  upon  the  breeze  :  but  the  sea  was  too  rough,  and 
she  too  devoted;  and  soon,  too  soon,  that  light  bark 
came  to  the  shore  amid  the  sighs  and  tears  of  many  dis 
appointed  friends.  The  name  of  it  was  Lucretia  Maria 
Davidson.*  "She  also  was  a  favorite,"  said  I,  turn 
ing  to  my  guide ;  and  it  might  be  because  my  own  eyes 

*  This  was  first  published  before  the  writer  had  heard  of  Margaret  M. 
Davidson. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF   GENIUS.  W 

were  dimmed,  that  I  thought  I  saw  tears  in  those  of 
Inspiration. 

There  were  also  some  other  vessels,  whose  pecu 
liar  appearance  attracted  my  attention.  They  were 
painted  black,  so  that  it  required  a  closely  discerning 
eye  to  read  the  inscriptions,  which  were  in  a  language 
unknown  to  me;  but  I  could  read  the  names — and 
among  them  were  those  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  Herder, 
Krummacher,  fyc.  "Listen  to  the  interpreters,"  said 
Inspiration,  "and  then  tell  me  how  thou  art  pleased 
with  their  words."  I  replied,  "  The  voices  of  some  of 
them  come  to  my  ear  like  the  songs  of  beings  from 
another  sphere ;  there  is  in  them  a  vague,  indistinct 
sense  of  beauty,  which  I  can  neither  appreciate  nor  un 
derstand.  Others  again  seem  to  me  like  the  sounds  of 
well  known  music,  as  it  comes  gently  stealing  over 
moon-lit  waters.  Others  again  seem  to  me  like  jargon 
and  nonsense."  "  I  like  thy  sincerity,"  said  Inspira 
tion,  "but  thou  betrayest  much  ignorance."  "I  know 
I  am  ignorant,"  was  my  reply ;  but  I  fain  would 
know,  and  thou  canst  teach  me.  Let  me  be  thy  pupil 
—  nay,  even  thy  slave,  though  I  may  never  be  thy 
favored  child."  "It  cannot  be,"  was  the  answer  of 
Inspiration,  "  for  I  have  not  willed  it."  "  And  yet," 
said  I  to  him,  "  there  are  none  upon  that  sea  who 
would  be  more  attentive  to  thy  voice,  nor  more  grate 
ful  for  thine  instructions.  Teach  me  also  to  build  a 
ship,  and  let  me  launch  upon  the  Sea  of  Genius." 

Inspiration  replied,  "  Neither  tears  nor  prayers  have 
ever  prevailed  with  me  to  bestow  my  counsels  on 
those  I  myself  had  not  chosen.  Many  would  be  on 
that  sea  who  now  stand  watching  on  the  shore,  if 


10  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

their  own  wishes  and  unaided  efforts  could  avail  them. 
And  it  should  be  a  cause  of  rejoicing  to  thee,  that  I 
have  this  once  deigned  to  show  thee  my  face." 

I  had  fallen  at  the  feet  of  my  conductor,  and  now  I 
arose  in  my  hopelessness  to  leave  the  place.  But  the 
gloom  was  changed  to  brilliant  light,  and  the  form  of 
Inspiration  had  vanished  in  the  brightness.  I  looked 
on  the  sea,  but  its  waters  seemed  changed  to  liquid 
gold,  and  the  waves  rolled  on  in  sweet  harmony. 

I  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  sky  above,  but  the  clouds 
were  now  a  waving  flame ;  and  when  I  raised  my 
hand  to  shade  me  from  the  dazzling  sight,  the  motion 
awoke  me,  and  behold !  it  was  a  dream. 

I  was  still  sitting  by  the  window  from  which  the 
stars  had  disappeared  the  night  before ;  but  now  it 
was  morning,  and  the  rising  sun  had  thrown  his  first 
beams  on  my  unshaded  eyelids.  The  birds  had  com 
menced  their  joyous  carols,  and  their  matin  songs  had 
mingled  with  the  voices  of  my  dream.  The  opening 
flowers  shed  around  a  sweet  fragrance,  and  the  dew- 
drops  were  sparkling  in  the  sun  light.  The  beasts 
had  awaked  to  their  morning  pleasures  :  the  husband 
man  was  cheerfully  commencing  his  labors  ,  and  all 
nature  was  alive  to  joy  and  beauty.  The  stars  of  the 
night  had  subdued  me  to  placid  resignation,  but  the 
morning  sun  aroused  me  to  buoyancy  and  gladness. 
The  oppressive  heaviness  of  that  strange  dream  had 
passed  away  ;  and  when  I  saw  all  around  me  so  con 
tented  and  cheerful,  I  resolved  that  I  too  would  go 
actively  about  the  humble  duties  of  the  day,  and 
never  more  repine  because  I  might  not  steer  a  bark 
across  the  black  and  stormy  Sea  of  Genius. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  11 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  SCIENCE. 

IT  is  difficult  for  those  whose  lives  are  spent  in  the 
hurry  of  business,  and  the  excitement  of  general  society, 
whose  pleasures  are  those  of  a  giddy  crowd,  and  whose 
amusements  are  shared  by  a  mirth-loving  throng,  to 
conceive  of  the  joys  of  the  lonely  student,  or  imagine 
the  recompense  he  receives,  when  he  resigns  all  other 
good  for  the  charms  of  Science.  But  though  we  whose 
thoughts  are  absorbed  by  the  daily  cares  of  a  toilsome 
life,  and  whose  intellects  are  dulled  by  neglect,  or 
warped  by  misuse,  may  not  be  able  to  comprehend  those 
pleasures,  still  we  may  be  assured  they  do  exist  for  those 
whose  minds  have  strength  and  perseverance  for  their 
pursuit. 

There  are  men  whose  souls  are  bound  within  the 
limits  of  the  laboratory,  or  the  lecture-room ;  and  those 
whose  hearts  are  still  within  their  breasts,  save  when 
they  leap  forth  from  some  lone  observatory  into  the 
midnight  heavens ;  and  there  are  those  who  are  alive 
but  to  the  beautiful  and  curious  in  the  works  of  Nature, 
or  the  organization  of  their  brother  man,  and  who  for 
these  joys  have  resigned  the  charms  of  the  social  circle, 
and  the  quiet  delights  of  domestic  bliss.  We  speak  of 
the  exclusive  devotees  of  Science  ;  those  for  whom  the 
parlor  is  more  lonely  than  the  chamber,  and  who  are 
but  fools,  or  madmen,  when  they  go  forth  into  a  world 
for  which  they  have  unfitted  themselves.  When  their 
heads  throb  with  undue  labor,  or  over-excitement,  there 
is  not  for  them  the  hand  of  love  to  press  the  aching  brow, 
or  the  sweet  voice  of  love  to  wile  away  the  hours  of 


12  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

tedious  gloom.  No :  these  are  not  their  pleasures ;  but 
"Verily  they  have  their  reward."  The  Botanist 
looks  with  a  more  earnest  eye  upon  the  beauties  of 
Nature,  than  does  the  Painter  or  the  Poet;  and  in 
those  plants  which  escape  the  notice  of  the  latter,  he  can 
find  both  occupation  and  amusement.  Yes,  his  heart 
has  warmed  amid  the  snows  of  Lapland,  as  he  observed 
its  curious  moss,  and  the  sight  of  an  Alpine  plant  has 
sent  a  glow  into  his  shivering  frame.  The  Geologist 
will  traverse  with  unwearied  step  full  many  a  weary 
mile,  and  climb  with  unshrinking  nerve  the  high  and 
craggy  precipice.  The  Astronomer  heeds  not  the  dews 
and  frosts  of  the  chilly  night,  so  that  he  can  but  gaze 
upon  a  cloudless  sky.  The  Chemist  fears  not  the  dan 
gers  of  his  critical  experiments;  and  the  Mathematician 
envies  not  the  gaities  of  his  livelier  friends,  so  that  he 
may  be  allowed  uninterrupted  solitude. 

There  are  many  other  sciences,  each  of  which  has 
its  zealous  votaries,  and  all  their  partial  followers.  But 
even  the  most  devoted  are  not  exclusively  selfish,  for 
they  have  pleasures  less  egotistical  than  mere  amuse 
ment.  Each  feels  that  his  science  is  a  benefit  to  the 
heedless  world,  and  though  his  labors  may  be  unappre 
ciated,  he  yet  believes  them  productive  of  good.  And  he 
who  has  the  hardest  scientific  task,  that  of  promulgat 
ing  the  long-sought  truths,  is  supported  by  a  faith  as 
undoubting  as  it  is  ardent  and  pure.  What  to  him  are 
the  sneers  of  the  contemptuous,  or  the  railleries  of 
the  ignorant  ?  for  he  knows  that  a  day  shall  come  when 
persecution  will  change  to  adulation,  and  the  tones  of 
contempt  to  those  of  approbation.  Yes,  he  feels  that 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  13 

that  time  will  come,  though  the  voice  of  praise  may 
never  reach  his  ear,  or  the  smiles  of  gratitude  meet  his 
eye ;  for  both  shall  be  closed  in  death. 

No  pleasures  can  be  purer  than  scientific  ones, 
excepting  those  of  Religion,  and  none  but  these  are 
less  subject  to  the  vicissitudes  of  life.  They  whose 
enjoyments  are  derived  from  wealth,  from  power,  from 
the  applause  of  the  multitude,  or  any  of  the  hopes  of 
earth,  how  often  have  we  heard  of  their  disappointments ! 
And  even  those  who  have  placed  their  chief  reliance 
for  happiness  upon  domestic  bliss,  may  be  deprived  by 
death  of  the  partners  of  their  pleasure  ;  and  then  how 
desolate  are  they,  unless  they  have  learned  to  hope  for 
a  reunion  in  "that  blest  world  where  sorrows  never 
come." 

The  pleasures  which  are  produced  by  and  dependent 
upon  the  elastic  buoyancy  of  youth,  are  very  different 
from  those  of  Science.  He  who  tastes  the  latter  can 
never  regret  the  former ;  for  a  light  is  shed  upon  his 
path  which  brightens  as  the  darkness  of  age  comes  on, 
and  dissipates  the  gloom  which  too  often  rests  upon 
those  who  have  placed  their  hopes  and  their  hearts 
on  the  vanities  of  a  changing  world. 

Neither  are  these  enduring  pleasures  less  lively  and 
exhilerating  than  those  of  a  transitory  character.  I 
have  heard  of  a  geologist  who  traveled  far  to  satisfy 
himself,  by  observation,  respecting  a  theory  which  he 
had  adopted ;  and  when  he  came  to  the  mountain  pass 
which  was  to  be  the  test,  and  his  warmest  hopes  were 
realized,  his  joy  was  too  great  for  utterance.  And  the 
great  Swedish  Naturalist,  who  left  his  own  loved  cr  untry 
2 


14  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  view  the  different  beauties  of  other  lands,  when  he 
first  saw  the  yellow  hills  of  Scotland,  knelt  down  and 
blessed  God  that  he  had  made  the  furze. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  SCIENCE. 

SCIENCE  has  been  beautifully  compared  to  a  Hill ; 
may  it  not  also  be  likened  to  a  vast  Garden  ?  Its  dif 
ferent  branches  are  the  various  paths,  and  its  facts, 
experiments  and  theories,  are  the  many  plants  and 
flowers.  This  garden  has  been  redeemed  by  much  toil 
and  care  from  the  vast  wastes  of  Ignorance,  and  its 
verge  is  now  but  too  barren.  The  shades  of  the  dark 
Forest  of  Mystery  throw  a  gloom  upon  its  borders,  and 
but  few  of  its  walks  give  evidence  of  long  continued 
cultivation. 

But  these  old  paths  are  thronged  by  a  cheerful  mul 
titude,  who  are  ever  busy  in  the  culture  of  its  beauteous 
plants,  the  admiration  of  its  blossoms,  or  the  enjoyment 
of  its  fruits.  They  are  bound  together  by  strong 
sympathies,  and  though  of  many  different  climes  and 
tongues,  yet  they  feel  that  their  hearts  are  in  sweet 
unison.  They  gaze  together  with  heightened  delight 
upon  the  loveliness  around  them,  and  their  glad  voices 
cheer  each  other  on  their  way. 

Some  confine  themselves  to  but  one  path,  where  they 
find  full  employment  in  the  cultivation  of  the  plants 
which  belong  to  them  exclusively.  They  heed  not  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  15 

perfumes  which  arise  from  some  distant  flowers,  or  the 
beauties  which  attract  their  friends  to  some  other  grove. 
Their  senses  are  engrossed  by  their  own  loved  blossoms; 
they  scan  minutely  their  texture,  form  and  color ;  they 
exult  in  their  beauty,  and  fondly  believe  there  is  no 
odor  like  that  exhaled  from  their  petals. 

But  there  are  others,  who,  either  from  less  concen- 
trative  powers,  or  more  expansion  of  mind,  diffuse  their 
labors  and  their  joys  among  the  many  different  walks. 
They  enjoy  the  beauties,  the  fragrance,  and  the  delights 
of  all.  They  love  those  flowers  more  perhaps  for  their 
beauty,  than  their  utility,  and  often  seek  their  own 
happiness  more  than  the  good  of  others.  They  can 
appreciate  the  labors  of  the  plodding  and  diligent,  yet 
seldom  strive  to  imitate  them ;  and  when  they  exert 
themselves,  it  is  but  to  smooth  the  rough  walks  and 
ornament  the  bowers. 

In  this  garden,  Woman  is  not  an  unwelcome  visitant, 
though  she  would  once  have  been  deemed  an  intruder 
there.  But  now,  when  she  enters  its  precincts,  a  help 
ing  hand  is  given,  and  cheering  words  are  spoken.  She 
walks  erect  and  free  amid  the  admiring  throng,  and 
never  is  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  more  delightful, 
pure,  and  unrestrained,  than  in  those  beauteous  groves 
and  bowers.  In  the  new  and  yet  uncultivated  portions 
of  that  garden,  she  is  but  seldom  seen,  and  few  but  the 
strong  and  fearless  are  there  to  be  found.  Of  these,  a 
few  occasionally  extend  their  steps  to  the  verge  of  the 
waste,  and  then  unguided  and  alone,  they  strike  out  a 
new  path.  They  heed  not  the  pleasures  and  the  sym 
pathies  which  they  have  left  behind ;  they  feel  not  the 
blasts  which  sweep  over  their  unsheltered  forms ;  and 


16  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

they  breast  alone  the  difficulties  which  surround  them. 
They  seek  the  small  wild  flowers,  and  when  they  have 
found  some  stunted  plants,  they  hail  with  joy  the  happy 
discovery ;  and  then  they  scan  its  tiny  blossoms,  and 
think  they  see  the  promise  of  future  beauty  and  use 
fulness.  Their  prospective  eye  looks  forward  to  a  time 
when  this  path  will  also  be  thronged  with  admirers, 
and  those  feeble  plants  shall  flourish  beneath  assiduous 
hands,  in  full  and  graceful  luxuriance.  They  also 
think  that  the  now  secret  virtues  of  those  plants  will 
one  day  be  widely  known,  and  that  in  their  leaves  will 
then  be  found  a  balm  for  healing. 

I  have  compared  the  votaries  of  Science  to  those  who 
linger  in  a  vast  garden.  "Yet  I  may  not  deem  myself 
a  wanderer  there.  I  am  but  a  distant  observer,  and 
"view  as  through  a  glass,  darkly."  But  through  the 
dim  perspective,  I  can  see  that  for  those  favored  ones 
there  are  pleasures  which  may  not  die.  For  them  there 
are  cooling  founts  and  murmuring  streams ;  for  them 
are  the  rainbow's  brightest  hues,  and  the  morn's  most 
sparkling  dew-drops ;  for  them  soft  breezes  blow,  and 
fragrance  floats  on  every  passing  zephyr;  for  them 
the  birds  sing  their  sweetest  songs,  bearing  music  to 
the  ear,  and  joy  to  the  heart ;  and  for  them  the  flowers 
put  forth  their  brightest  tints,  and  they  bloom  in  colors 
which  never  fade  away.  Their  food  is  from  a  never- 
failing  store,  and  their  drink  from  fountains  of  living 
water.  They  never  tire  nor  faint,  neither  do  they  weary 
of  that  place,  since  new  beauties  greet  their  eyes  at 
each  advancing  step,  and  darkness  never  veils  the 
splendor  of  that  scene,  for  it  is  lighted  by  a  sun  of  ever- 
brightening  glory. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  17 


AN  ALLEGORY. 

IT  was  an  evening  in  times  long  past,  when  Creation 
was  yet  young,  and  Earth  had  not  settled  into  that 
monotonous  routine  which  since  has  marked  her  daily 
course.  Yes,  Day  had  passed,  and  Evening  stole  along 
with  quiet  step,  and  sober  mien,  and  softly  spread,  o'er 
field  and  hill,  her  dark  grey  dusky  robe. 

But  Earth  moaned  sadly,  and  the  breezes  filled  the 
ear  of  Evening  with  her  voice  of  wailing.  Then  Even 
ing  said,  "Why  art  thou  thus  disquieted,  oh  Earth? 
and  why  dost  thou  refuse  to  lie,  in  quiet,  beneath  the 
robe  which  I  have  spread  above  thee?" 

And  Earth  said,  "Because  there  is  in  it  no  beauty. 
Day  cometh.  and  giveth  me  a  mantle  of  brightest  green. 
At  her  voice  the  flowers  raise  their  heads,  and  she 
arrayeth  them  in  gorgeous  hues,  but  at  thy  approach, 
they  bow  upon  their  stems,  for  thou  taketh  away  their 
loveliness.  It  is  not  thus  that  thou  hast  dealt  by  the 
sky;  for, -though  thou  hast  taken  away  its  many  col 
ored  clouds,  and  brilliant  sun,  yet  hast  thou  placed 
therein  a  million  gems,  and  it  is  filled  with  glory." 

Then  Evening  mused  awhile,  and  said,  "Thou  hast 
not  spoken  ill :  and  Earth,  at  night,  shall  also  have  her 
jewels." 

So  she  sprinkled  it  with  dew-drops,  which  studded 
every  bush  and  tree,  and  sparkled  o'er  each  vale  and 
hill. 

And  Earth  looked  upward  to  the  sky  and  smiled,  for 
Evening  now  had  given  both  their  glittering  beauty. 
2* 


18  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


HOPE   AND   DESPAIR. 

"  Beware  of  desperate  steps  ;  the  darkest  day, 
Live  till  to-morrow,  will  have  passed  away." 

"Go,"  said  I  sternly  to  a  beautiful  figure,  with 
laughing  eyes  and  sunny  brow,  who  was  endeavoring 
to  cheer  me  by  the  sweet  melodies  which  he  awakened 
from  a  harp  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  ever  and  anon 
accompanied  by  the  thrilling  strains  which  gushed 
from  his  lips.  "Go,  Hope,  thou  deceiver,  and  let  me 
never  again  hear  thy  false  words  and  beguiling  tones; 
they  have  already  betrayed  me  to  ruin;  and  now  leave 
me,  that  I  may  at  least  see  clearly  the  gulf  into  which 
I  have  been  led." 

But  Hope  still  lingered,  and  his  merry  laugh  rang 
in  my  ears  till  I  stopped  them  against  that  sound  of 
mockery,  and  again  bade  the  false  one  leave  me  to 
myself. 

"  When  I  am  gone,  you  are  deserted  by  your  best 
friend,"  was  the  reply  of  Hope. 

"  But  not  by  a  true  one,"  I  added  bitterly  ;  "  how 
often  in  bygone  hours  have  you  painted  to  my  eager 
eyes  some  picture  of  brightest  beauty,  and  told  me  then, 
that  it  was  but  a  shadow  of  those  scenes  of  happiness, 
in  which  I  yet  should  bear  a  part ;  but  the  phantasm 
would  quickly  fade  away,  only  to  be  renewed  by 
others  as  beautiful  and  false.  But  I  can  no  longer  be 
deluded;  my  eyes  are  now  opened  to  thy  hollow 
treachery,  and  I  can  never  again  be  the  dupe  of  thy 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  19 

artfulness.  Do  not  stay,  for  I  will  neither  listen  to 
thy  voice,  nor  gaze  upon  thy  face." 

Hope  looked  wistfully  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  his 
fingers  moved  as  if  to  sweep  his  harp-strings,  but  I 
bade  him  desist ;  and,  wrapping  his  bright  mantle 
about  him,  he  unfolded  his  white  pinions  and  flew 
away.  One  burst  of  farewell  music  fell  on  the  stilly 
air,  then  slowly  died  away,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

"  You  are  mine,"  said  a  hoarse  deep  voice ;  and 
turning,  I  beheld  the  lank  form  and  cadaverous  visage 
of  Despair,  who,  "grinning  horribly  a  ghastly  smile," 
again  added,  "  You  are  mine.  I  have  long  been  wait 
ing  for  the  time  when,  weary  of  Hope's  delusions,  you 
should  banish  him  from  your  presence ;  for  not  till 
then  might  I  venture  to  approach  you.  We  cannot 
live  together,  and  the  votaries  of  one  have  nought  to 
fear  from  the  other.  You  have  found  that  Hope  is 
false ;  his  syren  words  beguile  but  to  betray ;  but  mine 
are  those  of  fearful  truth.  Come  with  me,  then,  thou 
ruined  one;  for  truth,  alas,  you  sought  too  late." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  I,  in  supplicating  dread  —  for 
there  was  an  appalling  influence  in  the  cold,  stern 
gaze  and  hollow  voice  of  Despair,  which  took  from 
me  all  power  to  command  him  to  depart;  "I  have 
banished  Hope,  but  not  because  I  would  be  with  thee; 
for  surely,  truth  may  yet  be  found  without  the  aid  of 
cold  Despair." 

"  But  not  by  thee,"  and  his  words  fell  like  an  ice- 
bolt  on  my  heart :  "  you  have  followed  Hope,  and 
trusted  him,  and  guided  your  every  action  by  his 
whimsical  counsels,  until  you  have  found  yourself  in 
the  gulf  of  ruin." 


20  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

"Nay,  tell  me  not  of  utter  ruin;  I  have  friends  to 
aid  me,  and  a  long  life  still  in  view ;  I  have  banished 
the  deceiver,  and  past  errors  may  yet  be  retrieved." 

"Too  late!  too  late!"  was  the  stem  reply  of  De 
spair.  "  You  listened  too  eagerly,  confidingly,  and 
long,  to  my  rival.  He  has  left  you  in  obedience  to 
your  own  commands,  and  now  you  are  wholly  in  my 
power.  You  spake  of  friends ;  but  would  those  who 
think  themselves  your  friends,  be  such,  if  they  knew 
all  your  wickedness,  all  your  miserable  folly  and  cre 
dulity?  It  is  not  you  whom  they  love,  but  that  which 
you  have  seemed  to  them.  You  know  that  I  speak 
the  words  of  truth:"  and  I  clasped  my  hands  upon 
my  aching  brow,  for  I  dared  not  gainsay  the  words  of 
Despair.  "  You  spake  of  life,"  continued  he  ;  "come 
with  me,  and  I  will  show  you  where  your  future  life 
is  to  be  spent." 

I  passively  followed  my  ghastly  guide,  till  he 
brought  me  to  the  bank  of  a  deep,  sluggish  stream. 
Its  black  waters  flowed  on  in  a  stillness  unbroken  by 
nought  but  the  yells  and  moans  of  those  who,  on  the 
opposite  bank,  were  dragging  out  a  wretched  existence 
in  the  dark  regions  of  Despair.  "  You  must  plunge 
into  this  stream,"  said  my  guide,  in  a  tone  of  com 
mand  ;  "  yonder  is  your  future  home,  and  those  are  to 
be  your  companions." 

"It  is  the  river  of  death,"  said  I;  "and  none  may 
cross  its  waves  save  at  His  bidding,  who  is  mightier 
than  thou." 

"Speak  not  of  HIM,"  replied  my  grim  companion. 
"  Said  I  not  that  you  are  mine,  and  my  commands 
must  be  obeyed  ?  HE  heeds  you  not ;  HE  deserted 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  21 

you  when  you  banished  Hope ;  there  is  nought  for  you 
here,  and  where  those  wretched  beings  wail  forth  their 
tones  of  agony,  there  shall  you  go." 

He  raised  his  fleshless  arm  to  thrust  me  in  the 
stream,  when  a  flash  of  brilliant  light  burst  over  the 
gloomy  waters ;  a  strain  of  richest  harmony  came 
floating  on  the  wind,  and  then  a  sound,  "like  the  faint 
shiver  of  a  wing,"  attracted  my  upward  gaze.  I 
looked,  and  there  "he,  the  departed,  stood."  Hope  had 
again  returned,  and  once  more  his  cheering  words  fell 
sweetly  on  my  ears.  "Burst  from  him,"  said  he, 
"and  I  will  again  be  with  thee."  New  strength  came 
like  electric  fire  through  my  frame,  as  I  listened  once 
more  to  the  voice  of  Hope.  With  one  earnest  effort  I 
released  myself  from  the  grasp  of  Despair ;  and  bound 
ing  from  him,  I  cast  myself  at  the  feet  of  my  former 
companion.  One  fearful  yell  rang  through  the  murky 
air,  and  Despair  had  passed  away. 

"And  wilt  thou  again  listen  to  me,"  said  Hope, 
"and  believe  and  obey  me?" 

"Not,"  said  I,  "as  I  once  did ;  then  I  believed  too 
easily,  and  trusted  too  fondly,  and  too  far;  yet  better 
are  even  thy  false  words,  than  the  stern,  heart-break 
ing  truths  of  Despair.  Truths,  did  I  say  ?  Nay,  he 
is  as  false  as  thou  hast  been,  and  far  more  unwelcome. 
Yet  I  will  not  wholly  forget  all  he  has  told  me,  nor  too 
credulously  believe  in  thee.  Sing  again  thy  sweet 
melodies,  but  let  them  tell  of  the  joys  of  the  spirit- 
land.  Picture  again  thy  bright  visions,  but  lay  the 
scenes  in  another  world.  Brighten  again  my  earthly 
path,  but  let  the  light  come  down  from  above ;  and 


22  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

when  thou  shalt  again  depart  from  earth,  may  it  be 
'but  to  fold  thy  wings  in  heaven.'" 

"  Despair  has  gone,"  said  Hope,  in  a  sweet,  mild 
tone;  "but  his  influence  is  still  upon  thy  soul ;  there 
is  joy  for  thee  even  here,  though  a  purer  bliss  awaits 
thee  in  that  better  land; "  and  Hope  struck  his  harp, 
and  again  I  listened  to  its  melody. 

I  was  cheered  and  invigorated ;  I  returned  again  to 
my  former  haunts,  and  mingled  in  the  busy  scenes  of 
life.  And  though  I  never  again  would  yield  to  the 
sweet  delusions  of  Hope,  and  permitted  him  no  more 
to  sing  those  strains  of  visionary  joy,  —  neither  would 
I  entirely  banish  him  from  my  presence,  being  con 
vinced  that  he  alone  could  save  me  from  the  visits  of 
Despair. 


AMBITION  AND  CONTENTMENT. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

IT  was  morning.  A  mother  watched  her  beauteous 
boy,  as  he  frolicked  among  the  garden  flowers,  or 
sportively  anticipated  the  southern  breeze,  which 
stealthily  came  on  its  wonted  errand  to  bear  away 
upon  its  silken  wings  the  diamond  gems  with  which 
Night  had  so  lavishly  bestudded  each  leaf  of  the  grove 
and  herb  of  the  field ;  and  as  he  shook  the  bright  dew- 
drops  from  the  low  wild-flowers,  or  more  beauteous 


OF    THE    SEA   OF    GENIUS.  23 

blossoms  of  the  garden  parterre,  he  gaily  laughed  in 
his  childish  glee. 

Nor  did  he  pause  in  his  wild  pastime,  save  when  he 
cast  an  upward  glance  at  the  sky-lark,  soaring  on  to 
her  own  sweet  music,  as  though  it  were  her  mission  to 
pour  that  tribute  of  melody  upon  the  fleecy  clouds, 
which  were  blushing  in  the  crimson  robes  thrown  over 
their  varying  forms  by  the  rising  King  of  Day.  And 
a  thoughtful  smile  came  upon  the  full  lips,  and  beamed 
from  the  bright  eyes  of  the  fair  child,  as  his  young 
heart  thrilled  to  th,at  matin  song. 

But  the  flowers  were  many,  and  their  hues  were 
very  beautiful;  and  the  perfume  with  which  they 
loaded  the  morning  breeze  in  return  for  its  slight  caress, 
was  very  sweet ;  and  the  gay  butterflies  flitted  about, 
or  shadowed  with  their  gorgeous  wings  the  opening 
petals  of  those  lovely  earth-stars,  as  if  they  were  Flower- 
Spirits,  guarding  and  admiring  the  sweet  objects  of 
their  care. 

So  the  boy  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  glories  of 
heaven,  and  fixed  them  again  upon  the  beauties  of 
earth ;  and  his  heart  no  longer  swelled  within  him  at 
the  gushing  strains  of  the  heaven-bound  lark,  for  he 
listened  to  nought  but  the  chirp  of  the  cricket,  the  song 
of  the  grasshopper,  and  the  buzz  of  the  silver- winged 
flies,  which  hummed  amid  the  fragrant  herbage ;  and 
he  renewed  his  wild  play,  and  sported,  like  the  passing 
zephyr,  with  the  frail  flowerets  around  him. 

The  morning  passed.  The  mothers  eyes  were  still 
upon  her  son,  and  she  saw  that  he  began  to  weary  of 
the  wonted  pastime  with  flowerets,  dew-drops  and  but 
terflies,  and  that  a  shadow  was  stealing  upon  his  sunny 


24  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

brow,  and  the  sparkle  was  fading  from  his  joyous  eyes ; 
and  she  called  the  bright  boy  to  her  side,  and  asked 
him  why  he  had  ceased  his  merry  shout,  and  why  the 
gloom  had  so  early  settled  upon  his  spirit. 

And  the  child  said,  "Mother,  the  dew-drops  are  gone; 
the  pink  shadows  of  the  morning  clouds  no  longer  rest 
upon  the  limpid  lake ;  the  blue  haze,  which  slightly 
veiled  the  mountain-tops,  has  faded  all  away ;  the 
breeze  now  sleeps  within  the  forest-shade,  and  beneath 
the  shrubbery  of  the  garden ;  the  flowers  are  drooping 
on  their  stems,  or  folding  up  their  withered  blossoms, 
— say,  dearest  mother,  say,  why  should  I  longer  shout 
for  joy,  or  smile  again  in  sunny  glee?" 

And  the  mother  pressed  her  boy  closer  to  her  side, 
and  her  low  voice  fell  softly  upon  his  ears,  as  she 
answered.  "My  son,  are  there  not  other  beauties  and 
other  pleasures  than  those  of  the  early  morn?  and  is 
thy  heart  saddened  that  they  should  so  quickly  fade 
away  ?  But  behold  the  sun,  for  he  is  high  in  the 
heavens ;  the  labor  of  the  day  is  before  thee.  Go  now 
about  thine  appointed  task,  and  thank  thy  Father  in 
heaven  that  the  day  has  dawned  so  brightly,  and  that 
so  joyous  a  morning  has  been  given  to  gladden  thy 
heart,  and  strengthen  thy  frame." 

And  the  boy  said,  "Mother,  will  there  be  no  more 
morning  ?  Will  the  flowers  no  longer  bloom  ?  and  the 
insects  no  longer  sing?  and  the  dew-drops  never  more 
sparkle  ?  and  the  zephyrs  no  more  play  with  the  slight 
tendrils  of  the  vine  ?" 

And  the  mother  replied,  "  To  each  day  there  is  but 
one  morn;  but  our  Father  above  has  assured  us  that 
the  day  shall  follow  the  night,  and  that  when  we  lie 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  25 

down  to  sleep,  it  shall  surely  be  to  wake  again.  But 
if  we  would  lie  down  to  rest  in  peace,  and  would  waken 
beneath  His  approving  smile,  it  must  be  with  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  day  well  spent,  and  a  night  anticipated 
as  a  release  from  useful  toil.  Yet  God  forbid  that 
no  more  flowers  should  gladden  thine  eyes,  and  no 
more  music  enliven  thy  heart ;  but  the  carols  of  early 
birds,  and  the  fragrance  of  opening  flowers,  are  delights 
which  this  day  can  never  again  bestow.  My  son  can 
no  more  return  to  the  haunts  of  his  morning  pleasures; 
or  if  he  could,  those  gardens,  fields  and  vales  would 
no  more  offer  the  delights  which  have  beguiled  his 
gone-by  hours.  Yet  in  the  pilgrim-path  before  him, 
there  may  be  joys  which  will  better  meet  his  maturer 
mind.  Flowers  may  blossom  by  the  way-side,  and 
leisure  may  be  given  the  passing  traveler  to  enjoy  their 
sweet  odor.  Birds  may  carol  in  the  shadowing  trees, 
and  may  the  ears  and  heart  of  my  child  be  ever 
unsealed  to  their  simple  melody.  Sky-larks  may  never 
again  attract  thine  upward  gaze,  but  let  those  morning 
songs  reverberate  in  the  deep  recesses  of  thy  heart, 
and  the  ears  of  thy  soul  listen  to  the  low  echoes  of 
their  minstrelsy.  So  shall  the  brightness  of  the  morn 
ing  illuminate  the  coming  day,  as  the  sun  sends  forward 
roseate  robes,  for  the  clouds  which  wait  upon  his 
rising." 

And  the  boy  said,  "Mother,  there  is  but  one  direc 
tion,  and  that  is,  FORWARD  ;  but  there  are  many  paths. 
Is  there  no  chart?  no  guide  for  the  inexperienced 
one?" 

And  the  mother  repeated  mournfully,  "Alas !  is  there 
no  guide  for  my  son?" 
3 


26  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

And  there  came  in  reply  to  her  call  a  noble  form, 
arrayed  in  richest  robes  of  crimson  and  purple  hues  ; 
a  diadem  glittered  above  his  brow,  and  his  majestic 
mien  and  haughty  step  well  beseemed  one  clad  in  so 
much  grandeur.  Yet,  spite  of  his  lofty  bearing,  there 
was  much  of  fascination  in  his  tones,  as  he  said  to 
the  boy,  "My  name  is  Ambition.  Accept  me  as  thy 
guide,  for  I  can  direct  thy  steps  in  the  path  which  leads 
to  Happiness.  The  way  is  toilsome,  for  thy  steps  must 
be  ever  ascending;  yet  there  is  a  joy  in  the  upward 
progress,  and  a  noble  pleasure  awaits  thee  when  thou 
shalt  stand  above  thy  fellows  on  yonder  heights ;  and 
amidst  the  brilliant  lights  which  play  around  their  sum 
mits,  there  are  glorious  forms  whose  task  is  ever  to 
minister  to  those  who  gain  that  envied  station.  Fame 
and  Happiness,  twin-sisters,  there  make  their  habita 
tions,  and  nowhere  else  can  they  ever  be  found." 

The  boy's  heart  was  stirred  within  him  at  the  beguil 
ing  words  of  his  visitant,  and  he  looked  upward  to  the 
hills  which  Ambition  had  pointed  out  as  the  abodes  of 
Fame  and  Happiness ;  and  the  lurid,  nickering  light  was 
so  dazzling  to  his  young  eyes,  that  he  saw  not  how 
shadowy  were  the  forms  which  he  had  been  assured 
were  those  whom  he  should  ever  seek. 

Yet  ere  he  started  upon  his  weary  ascent,  there  came 
to  him  another  form.  Cheerful  and  placid  was  the 
expression  of  her  countenance,  and  the  serene  light 
which  beamed  from  her  clear  blue  eyes,  was  well  con 
trasted  with  the  brighter  but  restless  fires  which  flashed 
from  the  dark  orbs  of  Ambition.  Gentle  and  retiring 
were  her  manners  ;  and  there  was  little  to  charm  in  her 
person,  arrayed  in  a  plain  brown  robe,  which  bespoke 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  27 

frugality  and  mediocrity  of  station.  She  advanced 
calmly  to  the  boy,  and  her  voice  was  low  and  sweet, 
though  her  speech  was  plain,  as  she  thus  addressed 
him:  — 

"  My  name  is  Contentment.  I  too  am  willing  to  be 
thy  guide  ;  and  though  I  may  not  present  to  thy  view 
those  attractions  with  which  my  rival  would  lure  thee 
away,  yet  believe  me  when  I  assure  thee,  that  I  alone 
can  conduct  thee  to  Happiness.  The  path  in  which  I 
would  lead,  winds  through  a  lowly  vale  ;  and  though 
to  thy  bedazzled  eyes  it  may  look  gloomy  now,  (for 
the  shadows  of  those  dizzy  heights  hang  darkly  over 
it,)  yet  there  are  lights  gleaming  upward  from  the  still 
waters,  and  a  soft  brightness  resting  upon  the  low 
recesses  of  the  sheltered  valley.  If  Fame  be  consid 
ered  the  only  person  worthy  thy  regard,  and  the  coro 
net  that  she  may  place  upon  thy  brows  the  only  object 
to  which  thou  art  willing  to  devote  thy  energies,  I 
must  withdraw  my  proffered  aid;  but  believe  not  the 
seducing  words  of  yon  false  one,  for  Fame  is  not  allied 
to  Happiness,  nor  are  their  dwelling-places  the  same. 
The  former  may  indeed  be  found  upon  that  summit, 
but  the  latter  dwells  with  every  cottager  who  makes 
his  home  in  that  humble  valley,  and  with  every  pil 
grim  who  treads  the  shaded  path  which  winds  around 
it.  Say  then,  wilt  thou  follow  me?  or  wouldst  thou 
rather  become  the  victim  of  that  seducer?" 

The  boy  was  young,  and  the  splendid  attire  of  Am 
bition  was  far  more  pleasing  to  his  eyes  than  the  plain 
garments  of  Contentment ;  and  the  path,  to  which  he 
pointed,  seemed  like  a  bright  ascent,  leading  upward 
to  a  scene  of  glittering  illumination  ;  but  the  over- 


28  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

hanging  heights  which  enclosed  the  low  vale  of  Con 
tentment,  appeared  to  him  to  surround  a  scene  of 
mingled  poverty  and  gloom. 

So  he  took  hold  of  the  skirts  of  Ambition's  robe, 
and  declared  his  readiness  to  pass  the  day  in  following 
his  footsteps ;  yet  he  dared  not  look  back  for  his 
mother's  blessing,  for  he  felt  that  she  would  have 
smiled  far  more  sweetly  upon  him,  had  he  accepted 
the  guidance  of  his  gentler  monitor.  But  when  Con 
tentment  saw  that  he  slighted  her  offers,  and  noticed 
not  the  hand  which  she  had  kindly  extended  towards 
him,  she  meekly  turned  away.  *  *  The  sun  was 
at  the  zenith.  The  mother's  eyes  were  still  upon  her 
child,  but  it  was  with  a  fearful  joy  that  she  marked 
the  upward  path  he  trod,  and  saw  that  in  basking 
amidst  the  bright  rays  which  poured  upon  his  path,  he 
heeded  not  the  dark  clouds  which  were  rolling  up  from 
the  horizon.  And  she  saw,  too,  that  the  gay  smile 
which  illuminated  his  face  when  he  commenced  his 
journey,  had  vanished  away.  His  countenance  was 
pale  and  haggard,  his  eyes  wildly  sending  forth  their 
bright,  restless  glances,  and  his  footsteps  growing  fainter 
and  more  uncertain.  Ever  and  anon  would  he  cast  an 
anxious  glance  at  the  brow  of  the  hill  he  was  ascend 
ing,  thinking  to  behold  upon  it  the  splendid  temple  to 
which  he  had  ever  directed  his  steps,  and  hoping  that 
there  he  might  at  length  recruit  his  exhausted  frame, 
and  enjoy  the  reward  of  his  hours  of  toil.  But  height 
peeped  over  height,  hill  frowned  above  hill,  'Alps  on 
Alps  continually  arose,'  until  the  anxious  expression  of 
his  own  countenance  had  changed  to  one  of  settled 
gloom.  He  had  outstripped  many  of  his  competitors, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  29 

and  had  obeyed  the  low,  selfish  suggestions  of  his 
guide,  who  bade  him  thrust  his  rivals  from  the  path, 
or  hurl  them  down  the  summit,  until  his  course  had 
become  one  of  reckless  madness.  Desiring  to  stand 
alone  upon  that  lofty  pinnacle,  he  had  endeavored  to 
bring  upon  all  around  him  disappointment  and  destruc 
tion.  His  bosom  had  become  a  dark  fountain,  sending 
forth  its  black  stream  of  unholy  desires  and  impious 
machinations.  None  ever  smiled  upon  him  now,  and 
the  voice  of  sympathy  never  fell  upon  his  ears.  There 
were  no  friends  to  aid  him,  no  loved  ones  to  cheer  him. 

Yet  he  was  not  alone.  Wherever  he  went,  he  found 
that  others  had  been  there  before  him.  Whatever 
summit  he  might  ascend  was  overlooked  by  a  loftier 
one,  upon  whose  brow  stood  those  who  had  attained  a 
higher  elevation.  Yet  Happiness  was  never  visible, 
and  the  clouds,  which  had  previously  appeared  to  him 
refulgent  with  brightness,  were  bursting  in  tempestu 
ous  fury  upon  his  head,  and  casting  their  black  shadows 
upon  the  pathway  before  him. 

He  paused,  and  cast  his  eyes  downward  upon  the 
low  valley,  in  which  he  had  been  invited  to  pass  the 
day.  And  he  saw  that  the  storms  passed  high  above 
it,  and  though  the  bright  sun-beams  never  dazzled  it 
with  radiant  light,  yet  a  softer  brightness  ever  illumi 
nated  its  bosom.  He  saw,  also,  that  the  dwellers  there 
were  a  happy  band,  with  cheerful  smiles  and  joyful 
songs,  and  that  they  were  truly  wealthy,  for  what  they 
had  was  all  they  wished.  And  he  vainly  regretted  that 
he  had  not  chosen  the  better  part. 

"I  can  never  dwell  there  now,"  he  bitterly  repeated, 
"but  happiness  may  yet  be  found  upon  some  loftier 
3* 


30  SHELLS  FROM  THE  SARAND 

height."  Again  he  turned  to  resume  his  toilsome  pro 
gress,  but  his  feeble  limbs  refused  their  aid ;  darkness 
came  thickly  down  from  the  misty  hills;  his  frame 
was  sinking,  and  his  mind  despairing.  He  turned 
away  from  Ambition,  who  would  still  have  urged  him 
on,  and  sank  down  in  utter  despondency. 

Night  was  coming.  Quickly  had  passed  that  day, 
for  the  sun  had  early  hasted  to  his  going  down.  The 
watchful  mother  had  hastened  to  her  son,  and  she  ' 
vainly  endeavored  to  arouse  his  drooping  spirits,  and 
cheer  his  sunken  heart.  But  it  wras  too  late.  The 
shades  of  evening  were  gathering  fast  around  him,  and 
the  sun  was  sinking  below  the  horizon. 

"Will  no  one  aid  me?"  said  the  wretched  mother; 
and  there  came,  in  reply  to  her  call,  a  lovely  form 
arrayed  in  robes  of  snowy  whiteness. 

"My  name,"  said  she,  "is  Religion.  Mine  is  the 
task  to  heal  the  broken-hearted,  to  give  joy  to  the  chil 
dren  of  affliction,  and  to  bestow  upon  them  the  spirit 
of  rejoicing,  for  the  garment  of  heaviness. 

And  she  turned  her  angelic  face  towards  that  child 
of  disappointment  and  despair,  and  sweetly  smiled 
upon  him ;  and  with  a  voice  whose  every  tone  was 
heavenly  melody,  she  poured  into  his  listening  ears  the 
words  of  consolation.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "that  I  had 
earlier  received  thine  instructions,  and  enjoyed  the 
delights  of  thy  presence." 

"My  dwelling,"  she  replied,  "is  in  the  valley  below, 
and  seldom  do  I  find  a  votary  upon  the  heights.  Hadst 
thou  followed  Contentment,  thou  wouldst  also  have 
found  me,  and  my  sister,  Happiness,  whom  thou  hast 
vainly  sought  upon  these  dizzy  summits." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  31 

"But,"  said  he,  "must  thy  votaries  ever  continue  in 
the  low  rallies  ?  Is  there  no  upward  path,  but  that 
\vhich  Ambition  has  chosen,  to  lure  his  followers  to 
destruction?" 

And  Religion  replied,  "Thou  hast  said  well,  in  that 
thou  thinkest  an  upward  progress  preferable  to  a  con 
stant  sojourn  in  the  low  vallies.  There  is  an  upward 
path,  and  it  leads  to  mansions  of  eternal  bliss ;  there 
is  an  exercise  for  the  longing  spirit,  and  it  is  to  serve 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  with  all  thy  mind, 
and  with  all  thy  strength ;  and  there  is  a  joy  in  this 
which  lasteth  evermore.  The  day  is  now  past,  and 
the  night  cometh ;  but  that  will  also  flee  away,  and  a 
brighter  morning  shall  arouse  thee  to  renovated  strength, 
to  purer  pleasures,  to  nobler  and  greater  capacities  of 
enjoyment,  and  to  an  entrance  to  that  mansion  which 
is  the  everlasting  abode  of  Happiness,  'a  house  not 
made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.' " 

The  bright  glow  which  irradiated  the  countenance 
of  Religion  was  reflected  upon  that  of  her  listener ;  a 
heavenly  smile  passed  over  his  worn  features ;  a  bril 
liant  light  beamed  from  his  sunken  eyes;  he  pressed 
his  mother's  hand  in  his,  then  gently  laid  his  head  upon 
her  breast,  "and  so  he  fell  asleep." 


32  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


ANCIENT  POETRY. 

I  LOVE  old  poetry,  with  its  obscure  expressions,  its 
obsolete  words,  its  quaint  measure,  and  rough  rhyme. 
1  love  it  with  all  these,  perhaps  for  these.  It  is  because 
it  is  different  from  modern  poetry,  and  not  that  I  think 
it  better,  that  it  at  times  affords  me  pleasure.  But 
when  one  has  been  indulging  in  the  perusal  of  the 
smooth  and  elegant  productions  of  later  poets,  there  is 
at  least  the  charm  of  variety  in  turning  to  those  of 
ancient  bards.  This  is  pleasant  to  those  who  love  to 
exercise  the  imagination — for  if  we  would  understand 
our  author,  we  must  go  back  into  olden  times ;  we 
mnst  look  upon  the  countenances  and  enter  into  the 
feelings  of  a  long-buried  generation  ;  we  must  remem 
ber  that  much  of  what  we  know  was  then  unknown, 
and  that  thoughts  and  sentiments  which  may  have 
become  common  to  us,  glowed  upon  these  pages  in  all 
their  primal  beauty.  Much  of  which  our  writer  may 
speak,  has  now  been  wholly  lost ;  and  difficult,  if  not 
impossible  to  be  understood,  are  many  of  his  expres 
sions  and  allusions. 

But  these  difficulties  present  a  "delightful  task"  to 
those  who  would  rather  push  on  through  a  tangled 
labyrinth,  than  to  walk  with  ease  in  a  smooth -rolled 
path.  Their  self-esteem  is  gratified  by  being  able  to 
discover  beauty  where  other  eyes  behold  but  deformity; 
and  a  brilliant  thought  or  glowing  image  is  rendered  to 
them  still  more  beautiful,  because  it  shines  through  a 
veil  impenetrable  to  other  eyes.  They  are  proud  of 
their  ability  to  perceive  this  beauty,  or  understand  that 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  33 

oddity,  and  they  care  not  for  the  mental  labor  which 
they  have  been  obliged  to  perform. 

When  I  turn  from  modern  poetry  to  that  of  other 
days,  it  is  like  leaving  bright  flowery  fields  to  enter 
a  dark  tangled  forest.  The  air  is  cooler,  but  damp 
and  heavy.  A  sombre  gloom  reigns  throughout,  occa 
sionally  broken  by  flitting  sunbeams,  which  force  their 
way  through  the  thick  branches  which  meet  above  me, 
and  dance  and  glitter  upon  the  dark  underwood  below. 
They  are  strongly  contrasted  with  the  deep  shade 
around,  and  my  eye  rests  upon  them  with  more  pleas 
ure  than  it  did  upon  the  broad  flood  of  sunshine  which 
bathes  the  fields  without.  My  searching  eye  at  times 
discovers  some  lonely  flower,  half  hidden  by  decayed 
leaves  and  withered  moss,  yet  blooming  there  in  unde- 
caying  beauty.  There  are  briers  and  thistles  and 
creeping  vines  around,  but  I  heedlessly  press  on,  for  I 
must  enjoy  the  fragrance  and  examine  the  structure  of 
these  unobtrusive  plants.  I  enjoy  all  this  for  awhile, 
but  at  length  I  am  chilled  and  weary,  and  glad  to 
leave  the  forest  for  a  less  fatiguing  resort. 

But  there  is  one  kind  of  old  poetry  to  which  these 
remarks  may  not  apply — I  mean  the  POETRY  OF  THE 
BIBLE.  And  how  much  is  there  of  this !  There  are 
songs  of  joy  and  praise,  and  those  of  woe  and  lamen 
tation  ;  there  are  odes  and  elegies ;  there  are  prophecies 
and  histories;  there  are  descriptions  of  nature  and 
narratives  of  persons,  and  all  written  with  a  fervency 
of  feeling  which  embodies  itself  in  lofty  and  glowing 
imagery.  And  what  is  this  but  poetry  1  yet  not  that 
which  can  be  compared  to  some  dark,  mazy  forest,  but 
rather  like  a  sacred  grove,  such  as  "were  God's  first 


34  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

temples."  There  is  no  gloom  around,  neither  is  there 
bright  sunshine ;  but  a  calm  and  holy  light  pervades 
the  place.  The  tall  trees  meet  not  above  me,  but 
through  their  lofty  boughs  I  can  look  up  and  see  the 
blue  heavens  bending  their  perfect  dome  above  the 
hallowed  spot,  while  now  and  then  some  fleecy  cloud 
sails  slowly  on,  as  though  it  loved  to  shadow  the  still 
loveliness  beneath.  There  are  soft  winds  murmuring 
through  the  high  tree-tops,  and  their  gentle  sound  is 
like  a  voice  from  the  spirit-land.  There  are  delicate 
white  flowers  waving  upon  their  slight  stems,  and  their 
sweet  fragrance  is  like  the  breath  of  heaven.  I  feel 
that  I  am  in  God's  temple.  The  Spirit  above  waits  for 
the  sacrifice.  I  can  now  erect  an  altar,  and  every  self 
ish,  worldly  thought  should  be  laid  thereon,  a  free-will 
offering.  But  when  the  rite  is  over,  and  I  leave  this 
consecrated  spot  for  the  busy  path  of  life,  I  should 
strive  to  bear  into  the  world  a  heart  baptised  in  the 
love  of  beauty,  holiness  and  truth. 

I  have  spoken  figuratively — perhaps  too  much  so  to 
please  the  pure  and  simple  tastes  of  some — but  He 
who  made  my  soul,  and  placed  it  in  the  body  which  it 
animates,  implanted  within  it  a  love  of  the  beautiful 
in  literature,  and  this  love  was  first  awakened  and  then 
cherished  by  the  words  of  Holy  Writ. 

I  have,  when  a  child,  read  my  Bible,  from  its  ear 
liest  book  to  its  latest.  I  have  gone  in  imagination  to 
the  plains  of  Uz,  and  have  there  beheld  the  pastoral 
prince  in  all  his  pride  and  glory.  I  have  marked  him, 
too,  when  in  the  depth  of  his  sorrow  he  sat  speechless 
upon  the  ground  for  seven  days  and  seven  nights ;  but 
when  he  opened  his  mouth  and  spake,  I  listened  with 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  35 

eagerness  to  the  heart-stirring  words  and  startling 
imagery  which  poured  forth  from  his  burning  lips  ! 
But  my  heart  has  thrilled  with  a  delightful  awe  when 
"the  Lord  answered  Job  out  of  the  whirlwind."  and  I 
listened  to  words  of  more  sublimity  than  uninspired 
man  may  ever  conceive. 

I  have  gone,  too,  with  the  beloved  disciple  into  that 
lonely  isle  where  he  beheld  those  things  of  which  he 
was  commanded  to  write.  My  imagination  dared  not 
conceive  of  the  glorious  throne,  and  of  Him  who  sat 
upon  it;  but  I  have  looked  with  a  throbbing  delight 
upon  the  New  Jerusalem  coming  down  from  heaven 
in  her  clear  crystal  light,  "  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her 
husband."  I  have  gazed  upon  the  golden  city,  flash 
ing  like  "  transparent  glass,"  and  have  marked  its 
pearly  gates  and  walls  of  every  precious  stone.  In 
imagination  have  I  looked  upon  all  this,  till  my  young 
spirit  longed  to  leave  its  earthly  tenement  and  soar 
upward  to  that  brighter  world,  where  there  is  no  need 
of  sun  or  moon,  for  "  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof." 

I  have  since  read  my  Bible  for  better  purposes  than 
the  indulgence  of  taste.  There  must  I  go  to  learn  my 
duty  to  God  and  my  neighbor.  There  should  I  look 
for  precepts  to  direct  the  life  that  now  is,  and  for  the 
promise  of  that  which  is  to  come :  yet  seldom  do  I 
close  that  sacred  volume  without  a  feeling  of  thank 
fulness,  that  the  truths  of  our  holy  religion  have  been 
so  often  presented  in  forms,  which  not  only  reason  and 
conscience  will  approve,  but  also  which  the  fancy  can 
admire  and  the  heart  must  love. 


36  SHELLS  FROBI  THE  STRAND 


GLORY  OF   LIGHT. 

BEAUTIFUL  to  the  believer  is  every  work  of  Nature. 
To  him  there  is  a  loveliness  and  meaning  in  the  hum 
blest  herb,  and  smallest  insect ;  and  he  knows  that 
whenever  beauty  meets  the  eye,  then  should  instruc 
tion  go  to  the  heart. 

But  the  object  which  more  than  all  others  combines 
both  beauty  and  instruction,  is  LIGHT.  Beautiful  is 
light  when  it  shines  from  the  dazzling  sun,  and  beau 
tiful  when  it  beams  from  the  milder  moon ;  beautiful 
when  it  flashes  from  some  dark  thunder-cloud,  and 
beautiful  when  it  twinkles  from  myriads  of  evening 
stars.  Beautiful  is  it  when  concentred  in  noonday 
clouds,  and  beautiful  when,  with  scarlet  and  purple, 
it  curtains  the  sunset  sky.  Beautiful  is  it  in  the 
North,  when  its  varying  colors  stream  upward  in  the 
Borealis,  and  beautiful  in  the  South,  when  it  reddens 
the  midnight  sky  from  seas  of  prairie  fire. 

Beautiful  is  light  when  it  crests  the  ocean-billow, 
and  beautiful  when  it  dances  on  the  rippling  streamlet; 
beautiful  when  it  lies  like  a  silvery  robe  on  the  placid 
lake,  and  beautiful  when  it  turns  the  foaming  surge  to 
fretted  gold.  Beautiful  is  light  when  it  flashes  from 
the  maiden's  eye,  and  beautiful  when  it  sparkles  from 
the  diamond  on  her  hand. 

Beautiful  are  the  varying  hues  of  light,  as  they  flit 
and  change  on  the  water-bubble,  and  beautiful  are 
they  when  marshalled  in  the  rainbow.  Beautiful  is 
the  light  which  glistens  from  millions  of  points  and 
pinnacles  in  Arctic  glaciers,  and  beautiful  when  it 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  37 

rests  like  a  glorious  crown  on  Alpine  mountains ;  and 
beautiful  also  is  light,  when  it  breaks  through  forest- 
boughs,  and  holds  wild  play  with  the  flitting  shadow. 

Beautiful  are  the  coruscations  of  light  in  the  labora 
tory  of  the  chemist,  and  beautiful  is  the  fire-side  light 
when  friends  around  it  meet  in  that  dearest  of  all 
earth's  cherished  spots,  in  "  Home,  sweet  home." 
Beautiful  is  light  to  the  poor  man,  when  it  comes 
through  the  little  lattice  to  brighten  his  humble  cot, 
and  beautiful  to  the  prince,  when  it  streams  through 
gilded  casements  to  illuminate  his  palace. 

Beautiful  is  the  light  of  morn  to  the  Persian  wor 
shipper,  and  beautiful  is  it  after  the  night-storm  to  the 
shipwrecked  mariner.  Beautiful  is  it  to  the  child  of 
guilt  or  affliction,  to  whom  the  night  can  bring  no 
quiet  rest ;  and  beautiful,  after  their  undisturbed  sleep, 
is  it  to  all  beasts,  birds  and  insects,  whose  morning 
voices  unite  in  one  loud  thanksgiving  for  the  light. 

Beautiful  is  light  to  the  dungeon  prisoner,  when, 
after  years  of  darkened  life,  he  stands  beneath  the 
sun's  glad  beams ;  and  beautiful  is  it  to  the  invalid, 
when  from  the  couch  of  sickness  he  emerges  into  the 
bright  ocean  above  and  around  him,  and  from  the 
depths  of  his  grateful  heart  he  blesses  God  for  the 
light. 

Beautiful  also  is  light  to  the  timid  child,  when,  after 
awaking  in  darkness,  his  screams  of  terror  have 
brought  some  taper,  and  as  though  he  knew  that  his 
guardian  angel  had  come  to  watch  his  slumbers,  he 
lays  his  cheek  upon  his  little  hand,  even  shuts  his 
eyes  upon  the  wished-for  object,  and  sweetly  sleeps  — 
for  it  is  light. 

4 


38  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Beautiful  is  light  when  it  paints  the  tulip  with  gold, 
the  rose  with  crimson,  and  the  grass-grown  earth  with 
living  green.  Yes,  beautiful  is  every  light,  of  morn, 
of  eve,  of  midnight  and  of  noon,  and  grateful  for  all 
of  beauty  should  we  be  to  Him  who  is  the  "Father  of 
lights." 

Beautiful  is  light  in  its  mystery ;  and  is  it  not  in 
structive  too?  Though  to  the  Christian,  earth's  mean 
est  object  has  its  spiritual  teachings,  yet  here  is  a  high 
and  holy  lesson  for  the  Atheist.  Ask  him  why  he  be 
lieves  there  is  no  God,  and  his  reply  will  be,  "Because 
I  cannot  see  him,  I  cannot  feel  him,  I  cannot  touch  him, 
nor  comprehend  how  he  exists."  Tell  him  to  look 
upon  Nature,  for  there  he  must  see  the  evidence  of  a 
Creator's  hand;  but  bid  him,  above  all,  to  contemplate 
the  light.  He  can  see  that,  too — he  can  calculate  the 
rapidity  of  its  motion,  and  the  laws  of  reflection  and 
refraction  by  which  it  is  governed ;  he  sees  it,  he  believes 
in  it,  he  knows  it  exists ;  yet  he  cannot  touch  it,  he 
cannot  feel  it,  he  cannot  tell  of  what  it  is  made,  nor 
how  it  exists.  He  can  fill  his  chamber  with  it,  yet  he 
cannot  draw  his  shutters  and  say,  "I  have  shut  it  in," 
for  it  eludes  his  efforts,  though  he  can  never  tell  how. 

The  light  has  its  lessons  for  us  all ;  and  so  indispen 
sable  is  it  as  a  medium  of  instruction,  that  it  has 
become  but  another  name  for  knowledge,  and  its  ab 
sence  for  ignorance.  Though  some  have  lived  with 
out  ever  beholding  its  brightness,  yet  what  they  knew 
was  learned  from  those  who  were  blessed  with  sight ; 
and  as  we  can  form  no  idea  of  beauty  without  it, 
neither  can  we  think  of  knowledge  entirely  separated 
from  it 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  39 

Ask  the  poet  what  single  object  affords  him  the  most 
illustrations  of  various  truths,  and  he  says,  "  It  is  the 
light."  Ask  the  painter  what  most  engages  his  atten 
tion,  and  elicits  his  skill,  when  he  transfers  to  canvass 
the  lovely  scenes  of  nature,  and  he,  too,  answers,  '-The 
light."  Ask  the  natural  philosopher  upon  what  subject 
he  dwells  with  most  pleasure,  in  his  lectures  of  instruc 
tion,  and  he  answers,  "It.  is  light/'  Ask  the  rhetorician 
what  sentence  in  our  language  is  most  sublimely  beau 
tiful,  and  his  reply  will  be.  ''And  God  said,  'Let  there 
be  light,'  and  there  was  light."  And  why  so  sublime 
and  beautiful?  Because  though  we  know  that  the 
earth  was  gradually  formed  thus  glorious  and  perfect, 
yet  in  those  few  words  is  conveyed  the  idea  of  an 
instantaneous  springing  into  life  and  beauty. 

Listen  to  the  missionary,  as  he  depicts  the  woes  of 
heathen  lands;  and  he  says,  "You  must  send  them 
light."  Hear  the  philanthropist,  as  he  tells  of  the 
ignorance  and  affliction  of  the  poor  and  neglected  of 
our  own  land,  and  his  prayer  will  be  that  they  may 
have  light.  Listen  also  to  the  controversialist,  as  he 
argues  with  his  bigoted  opponent ;  and  how  earnestly 
he  wishes  that  he  may  have  light. 

When  the  Hebrew  poet  endeavored  to  portray  the 
beauty  and  majesty  of  God,  he  said,  ""Who  covereth 
himself  with  light  as  with  a  garment;"  and  through 
out  the  Scriptures,  how  many  ideas  of  happiness, 
beauty  and  knowledge  are  symbolized  by  the  word 
"light"!  On  the  contrary,  all  ignorance,  error,  deso 
lation  and  misery  are  symbolized  by  darkness. 

Our  Saviour  used  many  similes  to  shadow  forth  the 
glory,  knowledge,  holiness  and  happiness  which  were 


40  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  result  from  his  mission ;  but  never  could  the  truth 
have  been  more  powerfully  conveyed  to  his  listeners, 
than  when  he  said,  "I  am  the  light  of  the  world." 

I  had  thought  of  endeavoring  to  portray  a  world 
without  light ;  but  this  has  been  already  done  with 
thrilling  distinctness  by  him  who  wrote  the  "Dream  of 
Darkness."  No,  never  were  so  much  of  terror,  selfish 
ness,  agony  and  woe,  depicted  in  one  scene,  as  in  that 
when 

"  all  hearts 
Were  chilled  into  a  selfish  prayer  for  light." 

In  our  visions  of  the  spirit-world,  we  think  not  of 
sun,  moon,  stars,  oceans,  trees,  flowers  or  streamlets; 
we  divest  ourselves  of  all  things  which  have  here  been 
sources  of  beauty  and  knowledge — of  all,  save  one;  for 
all  our  ideas  of  its  glory,  felicity,  purity,  and  never- 
failing  sources  of  instruction,  are  enhanced  by  the 
sweet  reflection,  that  there  it  will  be  always  light. 


A  WEAVER'S    REVERIE. 

IT  was  a  sunny  day,  and  I  left,  for  a  few  moments, 
the  circumscribed  spot  which  is  my  appointed  place  of 
labor,  that  I  might  look  from  an  adjoining  window 
upon  the  bright  loveliness  of  nature.  Yes,  it  was  a 
sunny  day ;  but  for  many  days  before,  the  sky  had 
been  veiled  in  gloomy  clouds ;  and  joyous  indeed  was 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  41 

it  to  look  up  into  that  blue  vault,  and  see  it  unobscured 
by  its  sombre  screen;  and  my  heart  fluttered  like  a 
prisoned  bird,  with  its  painful  longings  for  an  uncheck 
ed  flight  amidst  the  beautiful  creation  around  me. 

"  Why  is  it,"  said  a  friend  to  me  one  day,  "  that  the 
factory  girls  write  so  much  about  the  beauties  of  na 
ture?" 

Oh !  why  is  it,  (thought  I,  when  the  query  after 
wards  recurred  to  me,)  why  is  it  that  visions  of  thrilling 
loveliness  so  often  bless  the  sightless  orbs  of  those 
whose  eyes  have  once  been  blessed  with  the  power  of 
vision? 

Why  is  it  that  the  delirious  dreams  of  the  famine- 
stricken,  are  of  tables  loaded  with  the  richest  viands, 
or  groves,  whose  pendent  boughs  droop  with  their 
delicious  burdens  of  luscious  fruit  ? 

Why  is  it  that  haunting  tones  of  sweetest  melody 
come  to  us  in  the  deep  stillness  of  midnight,  when  the 
thousand  tongues  of  man  and  nature  are  for  a  season 
mute  ? 

Why  is  it  that  the  desert-traveller  looks  forwa  d 
upon  the  burning,  boundless  waste,  and  sees  pictured 
before  his  aching  eyes,  some  verdant  oasis,  with  its 
murmuring  streams,  its  gushing  founts,  and  shadowy 
groves — but  as  he  presses  on  with  faltering  step,  the 
bright  mirage  recedes,  until  he  lies  down  to  die  of 
weariness  upon  the  scorching  sands,  with  that  isle  of 
loveliness  before  him? 

Oh  tell  me  why  is  this,  and  I  will  tell  why  the  fac 
tory  girl  sits  in  the  hour  of  meditation  and  thinks,  not 
of  the  crowded,  clattering  mill,  nor  of  the  noisy  tene 
ment  which  is  her  home,  nor  of  the  thronged  and  busy 
4* 


42  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

street  which  she  may  sometimes  tread ;  but  of  the  still 
and  lovely  scenes  which,  in  by-gone  hours,  have  sent 
their  pure  and  elevating  influence  with  a  thrilling  sweep 
across  the  strings  of  the  spirit-harp,  and  then  awakened 
its  sweetest,  loftiest  notes;  and  ever,  as  she  sits  in 
silence  and  seclusion,  endeavoring  to  draw  from  that 
many-toned  instrument  a  strain  which  may  be  meet 
for  another's  ear,  that  music  comes  to  the  eager  listener 
like  the  sound  with  which  the  sea-shell  echoes  the  roar 
of  what  was  once  its  watery  home.  All  her  best  and 
holiest  thoughts  are  linked  with  those  bright  pictures 
which  called  them  forth,  and  when  she  would  embody 
them  for  the  instruction  of  others,  she  does  it  by  a 
delineation  of  those  scenes  which  have  quickened  and 
purified  her  own  mind. 

It  was  this  love  of  nature's  beauties,  and  a  yearning 
for  the  pure,  hallowed  feelings  which  those  beauties 
had  been  wont  to  call  up  from  their  hidden  springs  in 
the  depths  of  the  soul,  to  bear  away  upon  their  swell 
ing  tide  the  corruption  which  had  gathered,  and  I 
feared  might  settle  there — it  was  this  love,  and  long 
ing,  and  fear,  which  made  my  heart  throb  quickly,  as 
I  sent  forth  a  momentary  glance  from  the  factory  win 
dow. 

I  think  I  said  there  was  a  cloudless  sky ;  but  it  was 
not  so.  It  was  clear,  and  soft,  and  its  beauteous  hue 
was  of  "the  hyacinth's  deep  blue" — but  there  was 
one  bright,  solitary  cloud,  far  up  in  the  cerulean  vault; 
and  I  wished  that  it  might  for  once  be  in  my  power  to 
lie  down  upon  that  white,  fleecy  couch,  and  there, 
away  and  alone,  to  dream  of  all  things  holy,  calm,  and 
beautiful.  Methought  that  better  feelings,  and  clearer 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  43 

thoughts  than  are  often  wont  to  visit  me,  would  there 
take  undisturbed  possession  of  my  soul. 

And  might  I  not  be  there,  and  send  my  unobstructed 
glance  into  the  depths  of  ether  above  me,  and  forget, 
for  a  little  while,  that  I  had  ever  been  a  foolish,  way 
ward,  guilty  child  of  earth?  Could  I  not  then  cast 
aside  the  burden  of  error  and  sin  which  must  ever 
depress  me  here,  and  with  the  maturity  of  woman 
hood,  feel  also  the  innocence  of  infancy  ?  And  with 
that  sense  of  purity  and  perfection,  there  would  neces 
sarily  be  mingled  a  feeling  of  sweet,  uncloying  bliss — 
such  as  imagination  may  conceive,  but  which  seldom 
pervades  and  sanctifies  the  earthly  heart.  Might  I  not 
look  down  from  my  aerial  position,  and  view  this  little 
world,  and  its  hills,  valleys,  plains  and  streamlets,  and 
its  thousands  of  busy  inhabitants,  and  see  how  puerile 
and  unsatisfactory  it  would  look  to  one  so  totally  dis 
connected  from  it?  Yes,  there,  upon  that  soft,  snowy 
cloud  <xmld  I  sit,  and  gaze  upon  my  native  earth,  and 
feel  how  empty  and  "vain  are  all  things  here  below." 

But  not  motionless  would  I  stay  upon  that  aerial 
couch.  I  would  call  upon  the  breezes  to  waft  me  away 
over  the -broad,  blue  ocean,  and  with  nought  but  the 
clear,  bright  ether  above  me,  have  nought  but  a  bound 
less,  sparkling,  watery  expanse  below  me.  Then  I 
would  look  down  upon  the  vessels  pursuing  their  dif 
ferent  courses  across  the  bright  waters;  and  as  I 
watched  their  toilsome  progress,  I  should  feel  how 
blessed  a  thing  it  is  to  be  where  no  impediment  of  wind 
or  wave  might  obstruct  my  onward  way. 

But  when  the  beams  of  a  mid-rday  sun  had  ceased 
to  flash  from  the  foaming  sea,  I  should  wish  my  cloud 


44  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  bear  away  to  the  western  sky,  and,  divesting  itself 
of  its  snowy  whiteness,  stand  ^there,  arrayed  in  the 
brilliant  hues  of  the  setting  sun.  Yes,  well  should  I 
love  to  be  stationed  there,  and  see  it  catch  those  part 
ing  rays,  and,  transforming  them  to  dyes  of  purple  and 
crimson,  shine  forth  in  its  evening  vestment,  with  a 
border  of  brightest  gold.  Then  could  I  watch  the  king 
of  day  as  he  sinks  into  his  watery  bed,  leaving  behind 
a  line  of  crimson  light  to  mark  the  path  which  led  him 
to  his  place  of  rest. 

Yet  once,  O  only  once,  should  I  love  to  have  that 
cloud  pass  on — on — on — among  the  myriads  of  stars; 
and  leaving  them  all  behind,  go  far  away  into  the 
empty  void  of  space  beyond.  I  should  love,  for  once, 
to  be  alone.  Alone  !  where  could  I  be  alone  ?  But  I 
would  fain  be  where  there  is  no  other  save  the  INVISI 
BLE,  and  there,  where  notVven  one  distant  star  should 
send  its  feeble  rays  to  tell  of  a  universe  beyond,  there 
would  I  rest  upon  that  soft,  light  cloud,  and  with  a 
fathomless  depth  below  me,  and  a  measureless  waste 
above  and  around  me,  there  would  I 

"Your  looms  are  going  without  filling,"  said  a  loud 
voice  at  my  elbow ;  so  I  ran  as  fast  as  possible,  and 
changed  my  shuttles. 


JOANNE  OF  ARC. 

WHEN,  in  the  perusal  of  history,  I  meet  with  the 
names  of  females  whom  circumstances,  or  their  own 
inclinations,  have  brought  thus  openly  before  the  pub 
lic  eye,  I  can  seldom  repress  the  desire  to  know  more 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  45 

of  them.  Was  it  choice,  or  necessity,  which  led  them 
to  the  battle-field,  or  council-hall  ?  Had  the  woman's 
heart  been  crushed  within  their  breasts?  or  did  it 
struggle  with  the  sterner  feelings  which  had  then  found 
entrance  there  1  Were  they  recreant  to  their  own  sex? 
or  were  the  deeds  which  claim  the  historian's  notice 
but  the  necessary  results  of  the  situations  in  which 
they  had  been  placed? 

These  are  questions  which  I  often  ask,  and  yet  I 
love  not  in  old  and  musty  records  to  meet  with  names 
which  long  ere  this  should  have  perished  with  the 
hearts  upon  which  love  had  written  them ;  for  happier 
may  be  woman,  when  in  some  faithful  heart  she  has 
been  "shrined  a  queen,"  than  when  upon  some  power 
ful  throne  she  sits  with  an  untrembling  form  and  an 
unquailing  eye,  to  receive  the  homage,  and  command 
the  services  of  loyal  thousands.  I  love  not  to  read  of 
woman  transformed,  in  all  save  outward  lineaments, 
into  one  of  the  sterner  sex;  and  when  I  see,  in  the 
memorials  of  the  past,  that  this  has  apparently  been 
done,  I  would  fain  overleap  the  barriers  of  by-gone 
time,  and  know  how  it  has  been  effected.  Imagina 
tion  goes  back  to  the  scenes  which  must  have  been 
witnessed  then,  and,  perhaps  unaided,  portrays  the  mi 
nuter  features  of  the  sketch,  of  which  history  has 
preserved  merely  the  outlines. 

But  I  sometimes  read  of  woman,  when  I  would  not 
know  more  of  the  places  where  she  has  rendered  her 
self  conspicuous;  when  there  is  something  so  noble 
and  so  bright  in  the  character  I  have  given  her,  that  I 
fear  a  better  knowledge  of  trivial  incidents  might  break 
the  spell  which  leads  me  to  love  and  admire  her; 


46  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

where,  perhaps,  the  picture  which  my  fancy  has  paint 
ed,  glows  in  colors  so  brilliant,  that  a  sketch  by  Truth 
would  seem  beside  it  but  a  sombre  shadow. 

JOANNE  OF  ARC  is  one  of  those  heroines  of  history, 
who  cannot  fail  to  excite  an  interest  in  all  who  love  to 
contemplate  the  female  character.  From  the  gloom  of 
that  dark  age  when  woman  was  but  a  plaything  and 
a  slave,  she  stands  in  bold  relief,  its  most  conspicuous 
personage.  Not,  indeed,  as  a  queen,  but  as  more  than 
a  queen,  even  the  preserver  of  her  nation's  king;  not 
as  a  conqvieror,  but  as  the  savior  of  her  country ;  not 
as  a  man,  urged  in  his  proud  career  by  mad  ambition's 
stirring  energies,  but  as  a  woman,  guided  in  her  bril 
liant  course  by  woman's  noblest  impulses ;  so  does  she 
appear  in  that  lofty  station  which  for  herself  she  won. 

Though  high  and  dazzling  was  the  eminence  to 
which  she  rose,  yet  "  't  was  not  thus,  oh,  't  was  not 
thus,  her  dwelling-place  was  found."  Low  in  the 
vale  of  humble  life  was  the  maiden  born  and  bred ; 
and  thick  as  is  the  veil  which  time  and  distance  have 
thrown  over  every  passage  of  her  life,  yet  that  which 
rests  upon  her  early  days  is  most  impenetrable.  And 
much  room  is  there  here  for  the  interested  inquirer,  and 
Imagination  may  revel  almost  unchecked  amid  the 
slight  revelations  of  history. 

Joanne  is  a  heroine — a  woman  of  mighty  power — 
wearing  herself  the  habiliments  of  man,  and  guiding 
armies  to  battle  and  to  victory ;  yet  never  to  my  eye  is 
"the  warrior  maid"  aught  but  a  woman.  The  ruling 
passion,  the  spirit  which  nerved  her  arm,  illumed  her 
eye,  and  buoyed  her  heart,  was  woman's  faith.  Ay, 
it  was  power ;  and  call  it  what  ye  may — say  it  was 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  47 

enthusiasm,  fanaticism,  madness — or  call  it,  if  ye  will, 
what  those  did  name  it  who  burned  Joanne  at  the 
stake,  still  it  was  power,  the  power  of  woman's  firm, 
undoubting  faith. 

I  should  love  to  go  back  into  Joanne's  humble  home, 
that  home  which  the  historian  has  thought  so  little 
worthy  of  his  notice ;  and  in  imagination  I  must  go 
there,  even  to  the  very  cradle  of  her  infancy,  and  know 
of  all  those  influences  which  wrought  her  mind  to  that 
fearful  pitch  of  wild  enthusiasm,  when  she  declared 
herself  the  inspired  agent  of  the  Almighty. 

Slowly  and  gradually  was  the  spirit  trained  to  an 
act  like  this;  for  though,  like  the  volcano's  fire,  its 
instantaneous  bursting  forth  was  preceded  by  no  her 
ald  of  its  coming,  yet  Joanne  of  Arc  was  the  same 
Joanne  ere  she  was  Maid  of  Orleans ;  the  same  high- 
souled,  pure  and  imaginative  being,  the  creature  of 
holy  impulses,  and  conscious  of  superior  energies.  It 
must  have  been  so ;  a  superior  mind  may  burst  upon 
the  world,  but  never  upon  itself ;  there  must  be  a  feel 
ing  of  sympathy  with  the  noble  and  the  gifted,  a 
knowledge  of  innate  though  slumbering  powers.  The 
neglected  eaglet  may  lie  in  its  mountain  nest,  long 
after  the  pinion  is  fledged ;  but  it  will  fix  its  unquail- 
ing  eye  upon  the  dazzling  sun,  and  feel  a  consciousness 
of  strength  in  the  untried  wing;  but  let  the  mother- 
bird  once  call  it  forth,  and  far  away  it  will  soar  into 
the  deep  blue  heavens,  or  bathe  and  revel  amidst  tem 
pest-clouds  ;  and  henceforth  the  eyrie  is  but  a  resting 
place. 

As  the  diamond  is  formed,  brilliant  and  priceless,  in 
the  dark  bowels  of  the  earth,  even  so,  in  the  gloom  of 


48  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

poverty,  obscurity  and  toil,  was  formed  the  mind  of 
Joanne  of  Arc.  Circumstances  were  but  the  jeweller's 
cutting,  which  placed  it  where  it  might  more  readily 
receive  the  rays  of  light,  and  flash  them  forth  with 
greater  brilliancy. 

I  have  said,  that  I  must  in  imagination  go  back  to 
the  infancy  of  Joanne,  and  note  the  incidents  which 
shed  their  silent,  hallowing  influence  upon  her  soul, 
until  she  stands  forth  an  inspired  being,  albeit  inspired 
by  nought  but  her  own,  imagination. 

The  basis  of  Joanne's  character  is  religious  enthu 
siasm:  this  is  the  substratum,  the  foundation  of  all 
that  wild  and  mighty  power  which  made  her,  the 
peasant  girl,  the  savior  of  her  country.  But  the  flame 
must  have  been  early  fed ;  it  was  not  merely  an  ele 
mentary  portion  of  her  nature,  but  it  was  one  which 
was  cherished  in  infancy,  in  childhood  and  in  youth, 
until  it  became  the  master-passion  of  her  being. 

Joanne,  the  child  of  the  humble  and  the  lowly,  is 
also  the  daughter  of  the  fervently  religious.  The  light 
of  faith  and  hope  illumes  their  little  cot ;  and  rever 
ence  for  all  that  is  good  and  true,  and  a  trust  which 
admits  no  shade  of  fear  or  doubt,  is  early  taught  the 
gentle  girl.  Though  "faith  in  God's  own  promises" 
was  mingled  with  a  superstitious  awe  of  those  to  whom 
all  were  indebted  for  a  knowledge  of  the  truth ;  though 
priestly  craft  had  united  the  wild  and  false  with  the 
pure  light  of  the  gospel ;  and  though  Joanne's  religion 
was  mingled  with  delusion  and  error,  still  it  comprised 
all  that  is  fervent,  and  pure,  and  truthful,  in  the  female 
heart.  The  first  words  her  infant  lips  are  taught  to 
utter,  are  those  of  prayer;  prayer,  mayhap,  to  Saints 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  49 

or  Virgin ;  but  still  to  her  then,  and  in  all  after  time, 
the  aspirations  of  a  spirit  which  delights  in  commun 
ion  with  the  invisible. 

She  grows  older,  and  still,  amid  ignorance,  and  pov 
erty,  and  toil,  the  spirit  gains  new  light  and  fervor. 
With  a  mind  alive  to  everything  that  is  high  and  holy, 
she  goes  forth  into  a  dark  and  sinful  world,  dependent 
upon  her  daily  toil  for  daily  bread.  She  lives  among 
the  thoughtless  and  the  vile ;  but  like  that  plant  which 
opens  to  nought  but  light  and  air,  and  shrinks  from  all 
other  contact,  so  her  mind,  amid  the  corruptions  of  the 
world,  is  shut  to  all  that  is  base  and  sinful,  though 
open  and  sensitive  to  that  which  is  pure  and  noble. 

"Joanne,"  says  the  historian,  "  was  a  tender  of  sta 
bles  at  a  village  inn."  Such  is  her  outward  life;  but 
there  is  for  her  another  life,  a  life  within  that  life. 
While  the  hands  perform  low,  menial  service,  the  soul, 
untrammelled,  is  away,  and  revelling  amid  its  own 
creations  of  beauty  and  of  bliss.  She  is  silent  and 
abstracted ;  always  alone  among  her  fellows,  for  among 
them  all  she  sees  no  kindred  spirit ;  she  finds  none 
who  can  touch  the  chords  within  her  heart,  or  respond 
to  their  melody  when  she  herself  would  sweep  its  harp- 
strings. 

Joanne  has  no  friends;  far  less  does  she  ever  think 
of  earthly  lovers ;  and  who  would  love  her,  the  wild 
and  strange  Joanne !  thought,  perhaps,  the  gloomy, 
dull,  and  silent  one.  But  that  soul,  whose  very  es 
sence  is  fervent  zeal  and  glowing  passion,  sends  forth 
in  secrecy  and  silence  its  burning  love  upon  the  uncon 
scious  things  of  earth.  She  talks  to  the  flowers,  and 
the  stars,  and  the  changing  clouds ;  and  their  voiceless 
5 


50  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

answers  come  back  to  her  soul  at  morn,  and  noon,  and 
stilly  night.  Yes,  Joanne  loves  to  go  forth  in  the  dark 
ness  of  eve,  and  sit 

"  Beneath  the  radiant  stars,  still  burning  as  they  roll, 
And  sending  down  their  prophecies  into  her  fervent  soul." 

But  better  even  than  this  does  she  love  to  go  into  some 
high  cathedral,  where  the  "  dim  religious  light"  comes 
faintly  through  the  painted  windows ;  and  when  the 
priests  chant  vesper  hymns,  and  burning  incense  goes 
upward  from  the  sacred  altar,  and  when  the  solemn 
strains  and  the  fragrant  vapor  dissolve  and  die  away 
in  the  distant  aisles  and  lofty  dome,  she  kneels  upon 
the  marble  floor,  and  in  ecstatic  worship  sends  forth 
the  tribute  of  a  glowing  heart. 

And  when  at  night  she  lies  down  upon  her  rude  pal 
let,  she  dreams  that  she  is  with  those  bright  and  happy 
beings  with  whom  her  fancy  has  peopled  heaven.  She 
is  there,  among  saints  and  angels,  and  even  permitted 
to  hold  high  converse  with  the  Mother  of  Jesus. 

Yes,  Joanne  is  a  dreamer ;  and  she  dreams  not  only 
in  the  night  but  in  the  day ;  whether  at  work  or  at 
rest,  alone  or  among  her  fellow-men,  there  are  angel- 
voices  near,  and  spirit- wings  are  hovering  around  her, 
and  visions  of  all  that  is  pure,  and  bright,  and  beau 
tiful,  come  to  the  mind  of  the  lowly  girl.  She  finds 
that  she  is  a  favored  one ;  she  feels  that  those  about 
her  are  not  gifted  as  she  has  been ;  she  knows  that 
their  thoughts  are  not  as  her  thoughts ;  and  then  the 
spirit  questions  ;  Why  is  it  thus  that  she  should  be  per 
mitted  communings  with  unearthly  ones  ?  Why  was 
this  ardent,  aspiring  mind  bestowed  upon  her,  one  of 
earth's  meanest  ones,  shackled  by  bonds  of  penury, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  51 

toil,  and  ignorance  of  all  that  the  world  calls  high  and 
gifted?  Day  after  day  goes  by,  night  after  night 
wears  on,  and  still  these  queries  will  arise,  and  still 
they  are  unanswered. 

At  length  the  affairs  of  busy  life,  those  which  to 
Joanne  have  heretofore  been  of  but  little  moment,  begin 
to  awaken  even  her  interest.  Hitherto,  absorbed  in  her 
own  bright  fancies,  she  has  mingled  in  the  scenes  around 
her  like  one  who  walketh  in  his  sleep.  They  have 
been  too  tame  and  insipid  to  arouse  her  energies,  or 
excite  her  interest ;  but  now  there  is  a  thrilling  power 
in  the  tidings  which  daily  meet  her  ears.  All  hearts 
are  stirred,  but  none  now  throb  like  hers ;  her  country 
is  invaded,  her  king  an  exile  from  his  throne  ;  and  at 
length  the  conquerors,  unopposed,  are  quietly  boasting 
of  their  triumphs  on  the  very  soil  they  have  polluted. 
And  shall  it  be  thus  ?  Shall  the  victor  revel  and  tri 
umph  in  her  own  loved  France  1  Shall  her  country 
thus  tamely  submit  to  wear  the  foreign  yoke  ?  And 
Joanne  says,  No  !  She  feels  the  power  to  arouse,  to 
quicken  and  to  guide. 

None  now  may  tell  whether  it  was  in  fancies  of  the 
day,  or  visions  of  the  night,  that  the  thought  first 
came,  like  some  lightning  flash,  upon  her  mind,  that  it 
was  for  this  that  powers  unknown  to  others  had  been 
vouchsafed  to  her;  and  that  for  this,  even  new  ener 
gies  should  now  be  given.  But  the  idea  once  received 
is  not  abandoned  ;  she  cherishes  it,  and  broods  upon  it, 
till  it  has  mingled  with  every  thought  of  day  '  and 
night.  If  doubts  at  first  arise,  they  are  not  harbored, 
and  at  length  they  vanish  away. 

"  Her  spirit  shadowed  forth  a  dream  till  it  became  a  creed." 


52  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

All  that  she  sees,  and  all  that  she  hears — the  words  to 
which  she  eagerly  listens  by  day,  and  the  spirit-whis 
pers  which  come  to  her  at  night — they  all  assure  her 
of  this,  that  she  is  the  appointed  one.  All  other 
thoughts  and  feelings  now  crystallize  in  this  grand 
scheme ;  and  as  the  cloud  grows  dark  upon  her 
country's  sky,  her  faith  grows  surer  and  more  bright. 
Her  countrymen  have  ceased  to  resist,  have  almost 
ceased  to  hope ;  but  she  alone,  in  her  fervent  joy,  has 
"  looked  beyond  the  present  clouds,  and  seen  the  light 
beyond."  The  spoiler  shall  yet  be  vanquished,  and 
she  will  do  it ;  her  country  shall  yet  be  saved,  and  she 
will  save  it ;  her  unanointed  king  shall  yet  sit  on  his 
throne,  and  "  Charles  shall  be  crowned  at  Rheims." 
^uch  is  her  mission,  and  she  goes  forth  in  her  own  ar 
dent  faith  to  its  accomplishment. 

And  did  those  who  first  admitted  the  claims  of 
Joanne  as  an  inspired  leader,  themselves  believe  that 
she  was  an  agent  of  the  Almighty  ?  None  can  now 
tell  how  much  the  superstition  of  their  faith,  mingling 
with  the  commanding  influence  of  a  mind  firm  in  its 
own  conviction  of  supernatural  guidance,  influenced 
those  haughty  ones,  as  they  listened  to  the  counsels, 
and  obeyed  the  mandates,  of  the  peasant  girl.  Per 
haps  they  saw  that  she  was  their  last  hope,  a  frail 
reed  upon  which  they  might  lean,  yet  one  that  might 
not  break.  Her  zeal  and  faith  might  be  an  instrument 
to  effect  the  end  which  she  had  declared  herself  des 
tined  to  accomplish.  Worldly  policy  and  religious 
credulity  might  mingle  in  their  admission  of  her 
claims ;  but  however  this  might  be,  the  peasant  girl 
of  Arc  soon  rides  at  her  monarch's  side,  with  helmet 


OF    THE   SEA    OF    GENIUS.  53 

on  her  head,  and  armor  on  her  frame,  the  time-hallowed 
sword  girt  to  her  side,  and  the  consecrated  banner  in 
her  hand ;  and  with  the  lightning  of  inspiration  in  her 
eye,  and  words  of  dauntless  courage  on  her  lips,  she 
guides  them  on  to  battle  and  to  victory. 

Ay,  there  she  is,  the  low-born  maid  of  Arc  !  there, 
with  the  noble  and  the  brave,  amid  the  clangor  of 
trumpets,  the  waving  of  banners,  the  tramp  of  the 
war-horse,  and  the  shouts  of  warriors ;  and  there  she 
is  more  at  home  than  in  those  humble  scenes  in  which 
she  has  been  wont  to  bear  a  part.  Now  for  once  she 
is  herself ;  now  may  she  put  forth  all  her  hidden  ener 
gy,  and  with  a  mind  which  rises  at  each  new  demand 
upon  its  powers,  she  is  gaining  for  herself  a  name  even 
greater  than  that  of  queen.  And  now  does  the  light 
beam  brightly  from  her  eye,  and  the  blood  course 
quickly  through  her  veins ;  for  her  task  is  ended,  her 
mission  accomplished,  her  prophecy  fulfilled,  and 
"  Charles  is  crowned  at  Rheims." 

This  is  the  moment  of  Joanne's  glory, — and  what  is 
before  her  now?  To  stand  in  courts,  a  favored  and 
nattered  one  ?  to  revel  in  the  soft  luxuries  and  enervat 
ing  pleasures  of  a  princely  life?  Oh,  this  was  not  for 
one  like  her.  To  return  to  obscurity  and  loneliness, 
and  there  to  let  the  over- wrought  mind  sink  back  with 
nought  to  occupy  and  support  it,  till  it  feeds  and  driv 
els  on  the  remembrance  of  the  past, — this  is  what  she 
would  do ;  but  there  is  for  her  what  is  better  far,  even 
the  glorious  death  of  a  martyr. 

Little  does  Joanne  deem,  in  her  moment  of  triumph, 
that  this  is  before  her;  but  when  she  has  seen  her 
mission  ended,  and  her  king  the  anointed  ruler  of  a 
5* 


54  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

liberated  people,  the  sacred  sword  and  standard  are 
cast  aside ;  and  throwing  herself  at  her  monarch's  feet, 
and  watering  them  with  tears  of  joy,  she  begs  permis 
sion  to  return  to  her  humble  home.  She  has  now  done 
all  for  which  that  power  was  bestowed ;  her  work  has 
been  accomplished,  and  she  claims  no  longer  the  special 
commission  of  an  inspired  leader.  But  Dunois  says, 
No !  The  English  are  not  yet  entirely  expelled  the 
kingdom ;  and  the  French  general  would  still  avail 
himself  of  that  name,  and  that  presence,  which  have  in 
fused  new  courage  into  his  armies,  and  struck  terror  into 
their  enemies.  He  knows  that  Joanne  will  no  longer  be 
sustained  by  the  belief  that  she  is  an  agent  of  heaven ; 
but  she  will  be  with  them,  and  her  presence  alone 
must  benefit  their  cause.  He  would  have  her  again 
assume  the  standard,  sword  and  armor;  he  would 
have  her  still  retain  the  title  of  "Messenger  of  God," 
though  she  believes  that  her  mission  goes  no  farther. 

It  probably  was  not  the  first  time,  and  it  certainly 
was  not  the  last,  when  woman's  holiest  feelings  have 
been  made  the  instruments  of  man's  ambition,  or 
agents  for  the  completion  of  his  designs.  Joanne  is 
now  but  a  woman,  poor,  weak  and  yielding  woman ; 
and  overpowered  by  their  entreaties,  she  consents  to 
try  again  her  influence.  But  the  power  of  that  faith 
is  gone,  the  light  of  inspiration  is  no  more  given,  and 
she  is  attacked,  conquered,  and  delivered  to  her  ene 
mies.  They  place  her  in  low  dungeons,  they  bring 
her  before  tribunals ;  they  wring  and  torture  that  noble 
spirit,  and  endeavor  to  obtain  from  it  a  confession  of 
imposture,  or  connivance  with  the  "  Evil  One ;"  but 
she  still  persists  in  the  declaration  that  her  claims  to  a 
heavenly  guidance  were  but  true. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  55 

Once  only  was  she  false  to  herself.  Weary  and  dis 
pirited  ;  deserted  by  her  friends,  and  tormented  by  her 
foes, —  she  yields  to  their  assertions,  and  admits  that 
she  did  deceive  her  countrymen.  Perhaps  in  that 
hour  of  trial  and  darkness,  when  all  hope  of  deliver 
ance  from  without,  or  from  above,  had  died  away,  — 
when  she  saw  herself  powerless  in  the  merciless  hands 
of  her  enemies,  the  conviction  might  steal  upon  her 
own  mind,  that  she  had  been  self-deceived ;  that  phan 
tasies  of  the  brain  had  been  received  as  visions  from 
on  high, —  but  though  her  confession  was  true  in  the 
abstract,  yet  in  a  confession  of  imposture  Joanne  was 
surely  untrue  to  herself. 

Still  it  avails  her  little ;  she  is  again  remanded  to  the 
dungeon,  and  there  awaits  her  doom. 

At  length  they  bring  her  the  panoply  of  war,  the 
armored  suit  in  which  she  went  forth  at  her  king's 
right  hand  to  fight  their  battle-hosts.  Her  heart  thrills, 
and  her  eye  flashes,  as  she  looks  upon  it  —  for  it  tells 
of  glorious  days.  In  her  wild  dream  of  the  past,  and 
all  unwitting  what  she  does,  she  dons  once  more 
those  fatal  garments,  and  they  find  her  arrayed 
in  the  habiliments  of  war.  It  is  enough  for  those  who 
wished  but  an  excuse  to  seal  her  fate,  and  the  Maid  of 
Orleans  is  condemned  to  die. 

They  lead  Joanne  to  the  martyr-stake.  Proudly 
and  nobly  goes  she  forth,  for  it  is  a  fitting  death  for 
one  like  her.  Once  more  the  spirit  may  rouse  its  no 
blest  energies ;  and  with  brightened  eye,  and  firm,  un 
daunted  step,  she  walks  where  banners  wave,  and 
trumpets  sound,  and  martial  hosts  appear  in  proud 
array.  And  the  sons  of  England  weep  as  they  see 


56  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

her,  the  calm  and  tearless  one,  come  forth  to  meet  her 
fate.  They  bind  her  to  the  stake ;  they  light  the  fire ; 
and  upward  borne  on  wreaths  of  soaring  flame,  the 
soul  of  the  martyred  maid  ascends  to  heaven. 


ABBY'S  YEAR  IN  LOWELL. 


CHAPTER     I. 

"  MR.  ATKINS,  I  say  !  Husband,  why  can't  you  speak  ? 
Do  you  hear  what  Abby  says? " 

"Anything  worth  hearing?"  was  the  responsive 
question  of  Mr.  Atkins ;  and  he  laid  down  the  New 
Hampshire  Patriot,  and  peered  over  his  spectacles, 
with  a  look  which  seemed  to  say,  that  an  event  so  un 
common  deserved  particular  attention. 

"Why,  she  says  that  she  means  to  go  to  Lowell, 
and  work  in  the  factory." 

"Well,  wife,  let  her  go; "  and  Mr.  Atkins  took  up 
the  Patriot  again. 

"  But  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  spare  her ;  the  spring 
cleaning  is  not  done,  nor  the  soap  made,  nor  the  boys' 
summer  clothes ;  and  you  say  that  you  intend  to  board 
your  own  { men- folks,'  and  keep  two  more  cows  than 
you  did  last  year ;  and  Charley  can  scarcely  go  alone. 
I  do  not  see  how  I  can  get  along  without  her. " 

"  But  you  say  she  does  not  assist  you  any  about  the 
house." 

"Well,  husband,  she  might." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  57 

"  Yes,  she  might  do  a  great  many  things  which  she 
does  not  think  of  doing ;  and  as  I  do  not  see  that  she 
means  to  be  useful  here,  we  will  let  her  go  to  the 
factory." 

"  Father,  are  you  in  earnest?  may  I  go  to  Lowell  1 " 
said  Abby ;  and  she  raised  her  bright  black  eyes  to  her 
father's,  with  a  look  of  exquisite  delight. 

"  Yes,  Abby,  if  you  will  promise  me  one  thing,  and 
that  is,  that  you  will  stay  a  whole  year  without  visit 
ing  us,  excepting  in  case  of  sickness,  and  that  you  will 
stay  but  one  year." 

"I  will  promise  anything,  father,  if  you  will  only 
let  me  go ;  for  I  thought  you  would  say  that  I  had  bet 
ter  stay  at  home,  and  pick  rocks,  and  weed  the  garden, 
and  drop  corn,  and  rake  hay ;  and  I  do  not  want  to  do 
such  work  any  longer.  May  I  go  with  the  Slater  girls 
next  Tuesday  1  for  that  is  the  day  they  have  set  for 
their  return." 

"  Yes,  Abby,  if  you  will  remember  that  you  are  to 
stay  a  year,  and  only  a  year." 

Abby  retired  to  rest  that  night  with  a  heart  flutter 
ing  with  pleasure ;  for,  ever  since  the  visit  of  the  Slater 
girls,  with  new  silk  dresses,  and  Navarino  bonnets 
trimmed  with  flowers,  and  lace  veils,  and  gauze  hand 
kerchiefs,  her  head  had  been  filled  with  visions  of  fine 
clothes ;  and  she  thought  if  she  could  only  go  where 
she  could  dress  like  them,  she  should  be  completely 
happy.  She  was  naturally  very  fond  of  dress,  and 
often,  while  a  little  girl,  had  she  sat  on  the  grass  bank 
by  the  road-side,  watching  the  stage-coach  which  went 
daily  by  her  father's  retired  dwelling;  and  when  she  saw 
the  gay  ribbons  and  smart  shawls,  which  passed  like  a 


58  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

bright  phantom  before  her  wandering  eyes,  she  had 
thought  that  when  older  she  too  would  have  such 
things ;  and  she  looked  forward  to  womanhood  as  to  a 
state  in  which  the  chief  pleasure  must  consist  in  wear 
ing  fine  clothes.  But  as  years  passed  over  her,  she  be 
came  aware  that  this  was  a  source  from  which  she 
could  never  derive  any  enjoyment  while  she  remained 
at  home,  for  her  father  was  neither  able  nor  willing  to 
gratify  her  in  this  respect ;  and  she  had  begun  to  fear 
that  she  must  always  wear  the  same  brown  cambric 
bonnet,  and  that  the  same  calico  gown  would  always 
be  her  "  go-to-meeting  dress."  And  now  what  a  bright 
picture  had  been  formed  by  her  ardent  and  unculti 
vated  imagination  !  Yes,  she  would  go  to  Lowell,  and 
earn  all  that  she  possibly  could,  and  spend  those  earn 
ings  in  beautiful  attire  ;  she  would  have  silk  dresses, — 
one  of  grass  green,  and  another  of  cherry  red,  and 
another  upon  the  color  of  which  she  would  decide  when 
she  purchased  it ;  and  she  would  have  a  new  Navarino 
bonnet,  far  more  beautiful  than  Judith  Slater's;  and 
when  at  last  she  fell  asleep,  it  was  to  dream  of  satin 
and  lace,  and  her  glowing  fancy  revelled  all  night  in  a 
vast  and  beautiful  collection  of  milliners'  finery. 

But  very  different  were  the  dreams  of  Abby's 
mother ;  and  when  she  awoke  the  next  morning,  her 
first  words  to  her  husband  were,  "  Mr.  Atkins,  were 
you  serious  last  night  when  you  told  Abby  that  she 
might  go  to  Lowell  ?  I  thought  at  first  that  you  were 
vexed  because  I  interrupted  you,  and  said  it  to  stop  the 
conversation." 

"  Yes,  wife,  I  was  serious,  and  you  did  not  interrupt 
me,  for  I  had  been  listening  to  all  that  you  and  Abby 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  59 

were  saying.  She  is  a  wild,  thoughtless  girl,  and  I 
hardly  know  what  it  is  best  to  do  with  her ;  but  per 
haps  it  will  be  as  well  to  try  an  experiment,  and  let  her 
think  and  act  a  little  while  for  herself.  I  expect  that 
she  will  spend  all  her  earnings  in  fine  clothes,  but  after 
she  has  done  so  she  may  see  the  folly  of  it ;  at  all 
events,  she  will  be  rather  more  likely  to  understand 
the  value  of  money  when  she  has  been  obliged  to 
work  for  it.  After  she  has  had  her  own  way  for  one 
year,  she  may  possibly  be  willing  to  return  home  and 
become  a  little  more  steady,  and  be  willing  to  devote  her 
active  energies  (for  she  is  a  very  capable  girl)  to  house 
hold  duties,  for  hitherto  her  services  have  been  principal 
ly  out  of  doors,  where  she  is  now  too  old  to  work.  I  am 
also  willing  that  she  should  see  a  little  of  the  world,  and 
what  is  going  on  in  it ;  and  I  hope  that  if  she  receives 
no  benefit,  she  will  at  least  return  to  us  uninjured." 

"O,  husband,  I  have  many  fears  for  her,"  was  the 
reply  of  Mrs.  Atkins,  "  she  is  so  very  giddy  and  thought 
less,  and  the'  Slater  girls  are  as  hare-brained  as  herself, 
and  will  lead  her  on  in  all  sorts  of  folly.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  her  that  she  must  stay  at  home." 

"  I  have  made  a  promise,"  said  Mr.  Atkins,  "  and  I 
will  keep  it,  and  Abby,  I  trust,  will  keep  hers." 

Abby  flew  round  in  high  spirits  to  make  the  neces 
sary  preparations  for  her  departure,  and  her  mother 
assisted  her  with  a  heavy  heart. 

CHAPTER    II. 

The  evening  before  she  left  home  her  father  called 
her  to  him,  and,  fixing  upon  her  a  calm,  earnest,  and 
almost  mournful  look,  he  said,  "Abby,  do  you  ever 


60  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

think?"  Abby  was  subdued,  and  almost  awed,  by 
her  father's  look  and  manner.  There  was  something 
unusual  in  it — something  in  his  expression  which  was 
unexpected  in  him,  but  which  reminded  her  of  her 
teacher's  look  at  the  Sabbath  school,  when  he  was 
endeavoring  to  impress  upon  her  mind  some  serious 
truth.  "  Yes,  father,"  she  at  length  replied,  "I  have 
thought  a  great  deal  lately  about  going  to  Lowell." 

"  But  I  do  not  believe,  my  child,  that  you  have  had 
one  serious  reflection  upon  the  subject,  and  I  fear  that 
I  have  done  wrong  in  consenting  to  let  you  go  from 
home.  If  I  were  too  poor  to  maintain  you  here,  and 
had  no  employment  about  which  you  could  make 
yourself  useful,  I  should  feel  no  self-reproach,  and 
would  let  you  go,  trusting  that  all  might  yet  be  well ; 
but  now  I  have  done  what  I  may  at  some  future  time 
severely  repent  of;  and,  Abby,  if  you  do  not  wish  to 
make  me  wretched,  you  will  return  to  us  a  better, 
milder,  and  more  thoughtful  girl." 

That  night  Abby  reflected  more  seriously  than  she 
had  ever  done  in  her  life  before.  Her  father's  words, 
rendered  more  impressive  by  the  look  and  tone  with 
which  they  were  delivered,  had  sunk  into  her  heart  as 
words  of  his  had  never  done  before.  She  had  been 
surprised  at  his  ready  acquiescence  in  her  wishes,  but 
it  had  now  a  new  meaning.  She  felt  that  she  was 
about  to  be  abandoned  to  herself,  because  her  parents 
despaired  of  being  able  to  do  anything  for  her ;  they 
thought  her  too  wild,  reckless,  and  untamable  to  be 
softened  by  aught  but  the  stern  lessons  of  experience. 
"  I  will  surprise  them,"  said  she  to  herself;  "I  will  show 
them  that  I  have  some  reflection ;  and  after  I  come 
home,  my  father  shall  never  ask  me  if  I  think.  Yes, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF   GENIUS.  61 

I  know  what  their  fears  are,  and  I  will  let  them  see 
that  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  and  as  good  care  as 
they  have  ever  taken  of  me.  I  know  that  I  have  not 
done  as  well  as  I  might  have  done  ;  but  I  will  begin 
now,  and  when  I  return,  they  shall  see  that  I  am  a 
better,  milder,  and  more  thoughtful  girl.  And  the 
money  which  I  intended  to  spend  in  fine  dress  shall  be 
put  into  the  bank ;  I  will  save  it  all,  and  my  father 
shall  see  that  I  can  earn  money,  and  take  care  of  it  too. 
O,  how  different  I  will  be  from  what  they  think  I  am ; 
and  how  very  glad  it  will  make  my  father  and  mother 
to  see  that  I  am  not  so  very  bad,  after  all." 

New  feelings  and  new  ideas  had  begotten  new  reso 
lutions,  and  Abby's  dreams  that  night  were  of  smiles 
from  her  mother,  and  words  from  her  father,  such  as 
she  had  never  received  nor  deserved. 

When  she  bade  them  farewell  the  next  morning,  she 
said  nothing  of  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
her  views  and  feelings,  for  she  felt  a  slight  degree  of 
self-distrust  in  her  own  firmness  of  purpose. 

Abby's  self-distrust  was  commendable  and  auspi 
cious  ;  but  she  had  a  very  prominent  development  in 
that  part  of  the  head  where  phrenologists  locate  the 
organ  of  firmness  ;  and  when  she  had  once  determined 
upon  a  thing  she  usually  went  through  with  it.  — 
She  had  now  resolved  to  pursue  a  course  entirely  dif 
ferent  from  that  which  was  expected  of  her,  and  as 
different  from  the  one  she  had  first  marked  out  for  her 
self.  This  was  more  difficult,  on  account  of  her  strong 
propensity  for  dress,  a  love  of  which  was  freely  grati 
fied  by  her  companions.  But  when  Judith  Slater 
pressed  her  to  purchase  this  beautiful  piece  of  silk,  or 
that  splendid  piece  of  muslin,  her  constant  reply  was, 
6 


62  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

"  No,  I  have  determined  not  to  buy  any  such  things, 
and  I  will  keep  my  resolution." 

Before  she  came  to  Lowell,  she  wondered,  in  her 
simplicity,  how  people  could  live  where  there  were  so 
many  stores,  and  not  spend  all  their  money;  and  it 
now  required  all  her  firmness  to  resist  being  overcome 
by  the  tempting  display  of  beauties  which  met  her 
eyes  whenever  she  promenaded  the  illuminated  streets. 
It  was  hard  to  walk  by  the  milliners'  shops  with  an 
unwavering  step ;  and  when  she  came  to  the  confec- 
tionaries,  she  could  not  help  stopping.  But  she  did 
not  yield  to  the  temptation ;  she  did  not  spend  her  mo 
ney  in  them.  When  she  saw  fine  strawberries,  she  said 
to  herself,  "  I  can  gather  them  in  our  own  pasture  next 
year; "  when  she  looked  upon  the  nice  peaches,  cherries, 
and  plums,  which  stood  in  tempting  array  behind  their 
crystal  barriers,  she  said  again,  "I  will  do  without 
them  this  summer ;"  and  when  apples,  pears  and  nuts 
were  offered  to  her  for  sale,  she  thought  that  she  would 
eat  none  of  them  till  she  went  home.  But  she  felt  that 
the  only  safe  place  for  her  earnings  was  the  savings 
bank,  and  there  they  were  regularly  deposited,  that  it 
might  be  out  of  her  power  to  indulge  in  momentary 
whims.  She  gratified  no  feeling  but  a  newly-awa 
kened  desire  for  mental  improvement,  and  spent  her 
leisure  hours  in  reading  useful  books. 

Abby's  year  was  one  of  perpetual  self-contest  and 
self-denial ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  one  of  unmitiga 
ted  misery.  The  ruling  desire  of  years  was  not  to  be 
conquered  by  the  resolution  of  a  moment ;  but  when 
the  contest  was  over,  there  was  for  her  the  triumph 
of  victory.  If  the  battle  was  sometimes  desperate, 


OF    THE    SEA   OF    GENIUS.  63 

there  was  so  much  more  merit  in  being  conqueror. 
One  Sabbath  was  spent  in  tears,  because  Judith  Slater 
did  not  wish  her  to  attend  their  meeting  with  such  a 
dowdy  bonnet;  and  another  fellow-boarder  thought 
her  gown  must  have  been  made  in  the  "year  one." 
The  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks,  and  the  lightning 
flashed  from  her  eyes,  when  asked  if  she  had  "just 
come  down  ;"  and  she  felt  as  though  she  should  be  glad 
to  be  away  from  them  all,  when  she  heard  their  sly 
innuendoes  about  "bush-whackers."  Still  she  remain 
ed  unshaken.  "It  is  but  for  a  year,"  said  she  to  herself; 
"and  the  time  and  money  that  my  father  thought  I  should 
spend  in  folly,  shall  be  devoted  to  a  better  purpose. " 

CHAPTER     III. 

At  the  close  of  a  pleasant  April  day,  Mr.  Atkins  sat 
at  his  kitchen  fireside,  with  Charley  upon  his  knees. 

"Wife,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Atkins,  who  was  busily 
preparing  the  evening  meal,  "is  it  not  a  year  since 
Abby  left  home?" 

"Why,  husband,  let  me  think:  I  always  clean  up  the 
house  thoroughly  just  before  fast-day,  and  I  had  not 
done  it  when  Abby  went  away.  I  remember  speak 
ing  to  her  about  it,  and  telling  her  that  it  was  wrong 
to  leave  me  at  such  a  busy  time,  and  she  said,  '  Moth 
er,  I  will  be  at  home  to  do  it  all,  next  year.'  Yes,  it  is 
a  year,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  she  should 
come  this  week." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  not  come  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Atkins, 
with  a  gloomy  look ;  "  she  has  written  us  but  few  let 
ters,  and  they  have  been  very  short  and  unsatisfactory. 


64  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

I  suppose  she  has  sense  enough  to  know  that  no  news 
is  better  than  bad  news,  and  having  nothing  pleasant 
to  tell  about  herself,  she  thinks  she  will  tell  us  nothing 
at  all.  But  if  I  ever  get  her  home  again,  I  will  keep 
her  here.  I  assure  you,  her  first  year  in  Lowell  shall 
also  be  her  last." 

"  Husband,  I  told  you  my  fears,  and  if  you  had  set 
up  your  authority,  Abby  would  have  been  obliged  to 
stay  at  home ;  but  perhaps  she  is  doing  pretty  well. 
You  know  she  is  not  accustomed  to  writing,  and  that 
may  account  for  the  few  and  short  letters  we  have 
received ;  but  they  have  all,  even  the  shortest,  con 
tained  the  assurance  that  she  would  be  at  home  at  the 
close  of  the  year." 

"Pa,  the  stage  has  stopped  here,"  said  little  Charley, 
and  he  bounded  from  his  father's  knee.  The  next 
moment  the  room  rang  with  the  shout  of  "  Abby  has 
come!  Abby  has  come!"  In  a  few  moments  more, 
she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  joyful  throng.  Her  father 
pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  and  tears  gushed  from  her 
mother's  eyes.  Her  brothers  and  sisters  were  clamor 
ous  with  delight,  all  but  little  Charley,  to  whom  Abby 
was  a  stranger,  and  who  repelled  with  terror  all  her 
overtures  for  a  better  acquaintance.  Her  parents  gazed 
upon  her  with  speechless  pleasure,  for  they  felt  that  a 
change  for  the  better  had  taken  place  in  their  once 
wayward  girl.  Yes,  there  she  stood  before  them,  a 
little  taller  and  a  little  thinner,  and,  when  the  flush  of 
emotion  had  passed  away,  perhaps  a  little  paler ;  but 
the  eyes  were  bright  in  their  joyous  radiance,  and  the 
smile  of  health  and  innocence  was  playing  around  the 
rosy  lips.  She  carefully  laid  away  her  new  straw 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  65 

bonnet,  with  its  plain  trimming  of  light  blue  ribbon, 
and  her  dark  merino  dress  showed  to  the  best  advan 
tage  her  neat,  symmetrical  form.  There  was  more 
delicacy  of  personal  appearance  than  when  she  left 
them,  and  also  more  softness  of  manner ;  for  constant 
collision  with  so  many  young  females  had  worn  off 
the  little  asperities  which  had  marked  her  conduct 
while  at  home. 

"  Well,  Abby,  how  many  silk  gowns  have  you  got?" 
said  her  father,  as  she  opened  a  large,  new  trunk. 

"  Not  one,  father,"  said  she  ;  and  she  fixed  her  dark 
eyes  upon  him  with  an  expression  which  told  much. 
"  But  here  are  some  little  books  for  the  children,  and  a 
new  calico  dress  for  mother ;  and  here  is  a  nice  black 
silk  handkerchief  for  you  to  wear  around  your  neck  on 
Sundays ;  accept  it,  dear  father,  for  it  is  your  daugh 
ter's  first  gift." 

"You  had  better  have  bought  me  a  pair  of  spectacles, 
for  I  am  sure  I  cannot  see  anything."  There  were 
tears  in  the  rough  farmer's  eyes,  but  he  tried  to  laugh 
and  joke  that  they  might  not  be  perceived.  "  But 
what  did  you  do  with  all  your  money?" 

"I  thought  I  had  better  leave  it  there,"  said  Abby, 
and  she  placed  her  bank-book  in  her  father's  hand. 
Mr.  Atkins  looked  at  it  a  moment,  and  the  forced  smile 
faded  away.  The  surprise  had  been  too  great,  and 
tears  fell  thick  and  fast  from  the  father's  eyes. 

"It  is  but  little,"  said  Abby.  "But  it  was  all  you 
could  save,"  replied  her  father,  "and  I  am  proud  of 
you,  Abby ;  yes,  proud  that  I  am  the  father  of  such  a 
girl.  It  is  not  this  paltry  sum  which  pleases  me  so 
much,  but  the  prudence,  self-command,  and  real  affec- 
6* 


66  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

tion  for  us,  which  you  have  displayed.  But  was  it  not 
sometimes  hard  to  resist  temptation?" 

"Yes,  father,  you  can  never  know  how  hard;  but  it 
was  the  thought  of  this  night  which  sustained  me 
through  it  all.  I  knew  how  you  would  smile,  and 
what  my  mother  would  say  and  feel ;  and  though 
there  have  been  moments,  yes,  hours,  that  have  seen 
me  wretched  enough,  yet  this  one  evening  will  repay 
for  all.  There  is  but  one  thing  now  to  mar  my  happi 
ness,  and  that  is,  the  thought  that  this  little  fellow  has 
quite  forgotten  me;"  and  she  drew  Charley  to  her 
side.  But  the  new  picture-book  had  already  effected 
wonders,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  was  in  her  lap, 
with  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  his  mother  could 
not  persuade  him  to  retire  that  night  until  he  had  given 
"  sister  Abby  a  hundred  kisses." 

"  Father,"  said  Abby,  as  she  arose  to  retire,  when 
the  tall  clock  struck  eleven,  "may  I  not  sometime  go 
back  to  Lowell  ?  I  should  like  to  add  a  little  to  the 
sum  in  the  bank,  and  I  should  be  glad  of  one  silk 
gown ! " 

"  Yes,  Abby,  you  may  do  anything  you  wish.  I 
shall  never  again  be  afraid  to  let  you  spend  a  year  in 
Lowell." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  67 

THE  FIRST  BELLS. 

CHAPTER     I. 

THERE  are  times  when  I  am  melancholy,  when  the 
sun  seems  to  shine  with  a  shadowy  light,  and  the 
woods  are  filled  with  notes  of  sadness ;  when  the 
up-springing  flowers  seem  blossoms  strewed  upon  a 
bier,  and  every  streamlet  chants  a  requiem.  Have  we 
not  all  "our  trials  ?  and  though  we  may  bury  the  sad 
thoughts  to  which  they  give  birth  in  the  dark  recesses 
of  our  own  hearts,  yet  Memory  and  Sensibility  must 
both  be  dead,  if  we  can  always  be  light  and  mirthful. 

Once  it  was  not  so.  There  was  a  time  when  I  gaily 
viewed  the  dull  clouds  of  a  rainy  day,  and  could  hear 
the  voice  of  rejoicing  in  the  roarings  of  the  wintry 
storm,  when  sorrow  was  an,  unmeaning  word,  and  in 
things  which  now  appear  sacred,  my  thoughtless  mind 
could  see  the  ludicrous. 

These  thoughts  have  been  suggested  by  the  recol 
lection  of  a  poor  old  couple,  to  whom  in  my  careless 
girlhood  I  gave  the  name  of  "  the  first  bells."  And 
now,  I  doubt  not,  you  are  wondering  what  strange 
association  of  ideas  could  have  led  me  to  fasten  this 
appellation  upon  a  poor  old  man  and  woman.  My 
answer  must  be  the  narration  of  a  few  facts. 

When  I  was  young,  we  all  worshipped  in  the  great 
meeting-house,  which  now  stands  so  vacant  and  for 
lorn  upon  the  brow  of  Church  Hill.  It  is  never  used 
but  upon  town-meeting  days,  for  those  who  once  went 
up  to  the  house  of  God  in  company,  now  worship  in 


68 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


three  separate  buildings.  There  is  discord  between 
them — that  worst  of  all  hatred,  the  animosity  which 
arises  from  difference  of  religious  opinions.  I  am  sor 
ry  for  it ;  not  that  I  regret  that  they  cannot  all  think 
alike,  but  that  they  cannot  "agree  to  differ."  Because 
the  heads  are  not  in  unison,  it  needeth  not  that  the 
hearts  should  be  estranged;  and  a  difference  of  faith 
may  be  expressed  in  kindly  words.  I  have  my  friends 
among  them  all,  and  they  are  not  the  less  dear  to  me 
because  upon  some  doctrinal  points  our  opinions  can 
not  be  the  same.  A  creed  which  I  do  not  now  believe, 
is  hallowed  by  the  recollections  of  the  Sabbath  wor 
ship,  the  evening  meetings,  the  religious  feelings — in 
short,  of  the  faith,  hope  and  trust  of  my  earlier  days. 

I  remember  now  how  still  and  beautiful  our  Sunday 
mornings  used  to  seem,  after  the  toil  and  play  of  the 
busy  week.  I  would  take  my  catechism  in  my  hand, 
and  go  and  sit  on  a  large  flat  stone  under  the  shade  of 
the  chestnut  tree ;  and,  looking  abroad,  would  wonder 
if  there  was  a  thing  which  did  not  feel  that  it  was  the 
Sabbath.  The  sun  was  as  bright  and  warm  as  upon 
other  days,  but  its  light  seemed  to  fall  more  softly  upon 
the  fields,  woods  and  hills ;  and  though  the  birds  sung 
as  loudly  and  joyfully  as  ever,  I  thought  their  sweet 
voices  united  in  a  more  sacred  strain.  I  heard  a  Sab 
bath  tone  in  the  waving  of  the  boughs  above  me,  and 
the  hum  of  the  bees  around  me.  and  even  the  bleating 
of  the  lambs  and  lowing  of  the  kine  seemed  pitched 
upon  some  softer  key.  Thus  it  is  that  the  heart  fash 
ions  the  mantle  with  which  it  is  wont  to  enrobe  all 
nature,  and  gives  to  its  never  silent  voices  a  tone  of 
joy,  or  sorrow,  or  holy  peace. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  69 

We  had  then  no  bell ;  and  when  the  hour  approached 
for  the  commencement  of  religious  services,  each  nook 
and  dale  sent  forth  its  worshippers  in  silence.  But 
precisely  half  an  hour  before  the  rest  of  our  neighbors 
started,  the  old  man  and  woman,  who  lived  upon  Pine 
Hill,  could  be  seen  wending  their  way  to  the  meeting 
house.  They  walked  side  by  side,  with  a  slow,  even 
step,  such  as  was  befitting  the  errand  which  had 
brought  them  forth.  Their  appearance  was  always  the 
signal  for  me  to  lay  aside  my  book,  and  prepare  to  fol 
low  them  to  the  house  of  God.  And  it  was  because 
they  were  so  unvarying  in  their  early  attendance,  be 
cause  I  was  never  disappointed  in  the  forms  which  first 
emerged  from  the  pine  trees  upon  the  hill,  that  I  gave 
them  the  name  of  "  the  first  bells." 

Why  they  went  thus  regularly  early  I  know  not,  but 
think  it  probable  they  wished  for  time  to  rest  after  their 
long  walk,  and  then  to  prepare  their  hearts  to  join  in 
exercises  which  were  evidently  more  valued  by  them 
than  by  most  of  those  around  them.  Yet  it  must  have 
been  a  deep  interest  which  brought  so  large  a  congre 
gation  from  the  scattered  houses,  and  many  far-off 
dwellings  of  our  thinly-peopled  country  town. 

And  every  face  was  then  familiar  to  me.  I  knew 
each  white-headed  patriarch  who  took  his  seat  by  the 
door  of  his  pew,  and  every  aged  woman  who  seated 
herself  in  the  low  chair  in  the  middle  of  it ;  and  the 
countenances  of  the  middle  aged  and  the  young  were 
rendered  familiar  by  the  exchange  of  Sabbath  glances, 
as  we  met  year  after  year  in  that  humble  temple. 

But  upon  none  did  I  look  with  more  interest  than 
upon  "  the  first  bells."  There  they  always  were  when 


70  SHELLS  FROAJ  THE  STRAND 

I  took  my  accustomed  place — there  upon  the  free  seat 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  pulpit.  Their  heads  were 
always  bowed  in  meditation  till  they  arose  to  join  in 
the  morning  prayer ;  and  when  the  choir  sent  forth 
their  strain  of  praise,  they  drew  nearer  to  each  other, 
and  looked  upon  the  same  book  as  they  silently  sent 
forth  the  spirit's  song  to  their  Father  in  heaven.  There 
was  an  expression  of  meekness,  of  calm  and  perfect 
faith,  and  of  subdued  sorrow,  upon  the  countenances 
of  both,  which  won  my  reverence,  and  excited  my 
curiosity  to  know  more  of  them. 

They  were  poor.  I  knew  it  by  the  coarse  and  much- 
worn  garments  wrhich  they  always  wore  ;  but  I  could 
not  conjecture  why  they  avoided  the  society  and  sym 
pathy  of  all  around  them.  They  always  waited  for 
our  pastor's  greeting  when  he  descended  from  the  pul 
pit,  and  meekly  bowed  to  all  around ;  but  farther  than 
this  their  intercourse  with  others  extended  not.  It  ap 
peared  to  me  that  some  heavy  trial,  which  had  knit  their 
own  hearts  more  closely  together,  and  endeared  to  them 
their  faith,  and  its  religious  observances,  had  also  ren 
dered  them  unusually  sensitive  to  the  careless  remarks 
and  curious  inquiries  of  a  country  neighborhood. 

One  Sabbath  our  pastor  preached  upon  parental  love. 
His  text  was  that  affecting  ejaculation  of  David,  "O 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son!"  He  told  of  the  depth 
and  fervor  of  that  affection  which  in  a  parental  heart 
will  remain  unchanged  and  unabated  through  years  of 
sin,  estrangement  and  rebellion.  He  spoke  of  that 
reckless  insubordination  which  often  sends  pang  after 
pang  through  the  parent's  breast;  and  of  wicked  deeds 
which  sometimes  bring  their  grey  heads  in  sorrow  to 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  71 

the  grave.  I  heard  stifled  sobs,  and  looking  up,  saw 
that  the  old  man  and  woman  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
pulpit  had  buried  their  faces  in  their  hands.  They 
were  trembling  with  agitation,  and  I  saw  that  a  fount  of 
deep  and  painful  remembrances  had  now  been  opened. 
They  soon  regained  their  usual  calmness,  but  I  thought 
their  steps  more  slow,  and  their  countenances  more 
sorrowful  that  day,  when,  after  our  morning  service 
had  closed,  they  went  to  the  grave  in  the  corner  of  the 
church-yard.  There  was  no  stone  to  mark  it,  but  their 
feet  had  been  wearing,  for  many  a  Sabbath  noon,  the 
little  path  which  led  to  it. 

I  went  that  night  to  my  mother,  and  asked  her  if 
she  could  not  tell  me  something  about  "  the  first  bells." 
She  chid  me  for  the  phrase  by  which  I  was  wont  to 
designate  them,  but  said  that  her  knowledge  of  their 
former  life  was  very  limited.  Several  years  before, 
she  added,  there  was  a  man  murdered  in  hot  blood  in 
a  distant  town,  by  a  person  named  John  L.  The  mur 
derer  was  tried  and  hung ;  and  not  long  after,  this  old 
man  and  woman  came  and  hired  the  little  cottage  upon 
Pine  Hill.  Their  names  were  the  same  that  the  mur 
derer  had  borne,  and  their  looks  of  sadness,  and  retiring 
manners,  had  led  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  his 
parents.  No  one  knew  certainly  that  it  was  so,  for 
they  shrunk  from  all  inquiries,  and  never  adverted  to 
the  past ;  but  a  gentle  and  sad  looking  girl,  who  had 
accompanied  them  to  their  new  place  of  abode,  had 
pined  away,  and  died  within  the  first  year  of  their 
arrival.  She  was  their  daughter,  and  was  supposed  to 
have  died  of  a  broken  heart  for  her  brother  who  had 
been  hung.  She  was  buried  in  the  corner  of  the  church- 


72  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

yard,  and  every  pleasant  Sabbath  noon  her  aged 
parents  had  mourned  over  her  lowly  grave. 

"And  now,  my  daughter,"  said  my  mother,  in  con 
clusion,  "respect  their  years,  their  sorrows,  and  above 
all,  the  deep,  fervent  piety  which  cheers  and  sustains 
them,  and  which  has  been  nurtured  by  agonies,  and 
watered  by  tears,  such  as  I  hope  my  child  will  never 
know." 

My  mother  drew  me  to  her  side,  and  kissed  me  ten 
derly,  and  I  resolved  that  never  again  would  I  in  a 
spirit  of  levity  call  Mr.  and  Mrs.  L.  "the  first  bells." 


CHAPTER    II. 

Years  passed  on;  and  through  summer's  sunshine 
and  its  showers,  and  through  winter's  cold,  and  frosts, 
and  storms,  that  old  couple  still  went  upon  their  neA^er- 
failing  Sabbath  pilgrimage.  I  can  see  them  even  now, 
as  they  looked  in  days  long  gone  by.  The  old  man 
in  his  loose,  black,  Quaker-like  coat,  and  low-crowned, 
much-worn  hat,  his  heavy,  cow-hide  boots,  and  coarse 
blue  mittens ;  and  his  partner  walking  slowly  by  his 
side,  wearing  a  scanty  brown  cloak,  with  four  little 
capes,  and  a  close,  black,  rusty-looking  bonnet.  In 
summer,  the  cloak  was  exchanged  for  a  cotton  shawl, 
and  the  woollen  gown  for  one  of  mourning  print.  The 
Sabbath  expression  was  as  unchangeable  as  its  dress. 
Their  features  were  very  different,  but  they  had  both 
the  same  mild,  mournful  look,  the  same  touching 
glance,  whenever  their  eyes  rested  upon  each  other ; 
and  it  was  one  which  spoke  of  sympathy,  hallowed 
by  heart-felt  piety. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  73 

At  length  a  coffin  was  borne  upon  a  bier  from  the 
little  house  upon  the  hill ;  and  after  that,  the  widow 
went  alone  each  sabbath  noon  to  the  two  graves  in  the 
corner  of  the  church-yard.  I  felt  sad  when  L  thought 
how  lonely  and  sorrowful  she  must  be  now ;  and 
one  pleasant  day  I  ventured,  an  unbidden  guest,  into 
her  lowly  cot.  As  I  approached  her  door,  I  heard  her 
singing,  in  a  low,  tremulous  tone, 

"  How  are  thy  servants  blessed,  O  Lord." 

I  was  touched  to  the  heart ;  for  I  could  see  that  her 
blessings  were  those  of  a  faith,  hope  and  joy,  which  the 
world  could  neither  give  nor  take  away. 

She  was  evidently  destitute  of  what  the  world  calls 
comforts,  and  I  feared  she  might  also  want  its  necessa 
ries.  But  her  look  was  almost  cheerful  as  she  assured 
me  that  her  knitting  (at  which  I  perceived  she  was 
quite  expeditious)  supplied  her  with  all  which  she  now 
wanted. 

I  looked  upon  her  sunburnt,  wrinkled  countenance, 
and  thought  it  radiant  with  moral  beauty.  She  wore 
no  cap,  and  her  thin  gray  hair  was  combed  back  from 
her  furrowed  brow.  Her  dress  was  a  blue  woollen  skirt, 
and  a  short,  loose  gown ;  and  her  hard,  shrivelled  hands 
bore  witness  to  much  un  feminine  labor.  Yet  she  was 
contented,  and  even  happy,  and  singing  praise  to  God  for 
His  blessings.  *  *  * 

The  next  winter  I  thought  I  could  perceive  a  falter 
ing  in  her  gait,  whenever  she  ascended  Church  Hill ; 
and  one  sabbath  she  was  not  in  her  accustomed  seat. 
The  next,  she  was  also  absent ;  and  when  I  looked 
upon  Pine  Hill,  I  could  perceive  no  smoke  issuing  from 
7 


74  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

her  chimney.  I  felt  anxious,  and  requested  liberty  to 
make,  what  was  then  in  our  neighborhood  an  unusual 
occurrence,  a  sabbath  visit.  My  mother  granted  me 
permission  to  go.  and  remain  as  long  as  my  services 
might  be  necessary  ;  and  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon 
worship,  I  went  to  the  little  house  upon  the  hill.  I  lis 
tened  eagerly  for  some  sound,  as  I  entered  the  cold 
apartment;  but  hearing  none,  I  tremblingly  approach 
ed  the  low,  hard  bed.  She  was  lying  there  with  the 
same  calm  look  of  resignation,  and  whispered  a  few 
words  of  welcome  as  I  took  her  hand. 

"You  are  sick,  and  alone,"  said  I  to  her;  "tell  me 
what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"lam  sick,"  was  her  reply,  "but  not  alone.  He 
who  is  every  where,  and  at  all  times  present,  has  been 
with  me  in  the  day  and  in  the  night.  I  have  prayed 
to  Him,  and  received  answers  of  mercy,  love  and  peace. 
He  has  sent  His  angel  to  call  me  home,  and  there  is 
nought  for  you  to  do  but  to  watch  the  spirit's  depar 
ture." 

I  felt  that  it  was  so ;  yet  I  must  do  something.  I 
kindled  a  fire,  and  prepared  some  refreshment;  and 
after  she  drank  a  bowl  of  warm  tea,  I  thought  she 
looked  better.  She  asked  me  for  her  Bible,  and  I 
brought  her  the  worn  volume  which  had  been  lying 
upon  the  little  stand.  She  took  from  it  a  soiled  and 
much- worn  letter,  and  after  pressing  it  to  her  lips,  en 
deavored  to  open  it  —  but  her  hands  were  too  weak, 
and  it  dropped  upon  the  bed.  "  No  matter,"  said  she, 
as  I  offered  to  open  it  for  her ;  "I  know  all  that  is  in 
it,  and  in  that  book  also.  But  I  thought  I  should  like 
to  look  once  more  upon  them  both.  I  have  read  them 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  75 

daily  for  many  years  till  now;  but  I  do  not  mind  it  — 
I  shall  go  soon." 

She  followed  me  with  her  eyes  as  I  laid  them  aside, 
and  then  closing  them,  her  lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer. 
She  soon  after  fell  into  a  slumber,  and  I  watched  her 
every  breath,  fearing  it  might  be  the  last. 

What  lessons  of  wisdom,  truth,  and  fortitude,  were 
taught  me  by  that  humble  bed-side  !  I  had  never  be 
fore  been  with  the  dying,  and  I  had  always  imagined 
a  death-bed  to  be  fraught  with  terror.  I  expected  that 
there  were  always  fearful  shrieks,  and  appalling  groans, 
as  the  soul  left  its  clay  tenement ;  but  my  fears  were 
now  dispelled.  A  sweet  calmness  stole  into  my  inmost 
soul,  as  I  watched  by  the  low  coach  of  the  sufferer  ; 
and  I  said,  '  If  this  be  death,  may  my  last  end  be  like 
hers.' 

But  at  length  I  saw  that  some  dark  dream  had 
brought  a  frown  upon  the  pallid  brow,  and  an  expres 
sion  of  woe  around  the  parched  lips.  She  was 
endeavoring  to  speak  or  to  weep,  and  I  was  about  to 
awaken  her,  when  a  sweet  smile  came  like  a  flash  of 
sunlight  over  her  sunken  face,  and  I  saw  that  the  dream 
of  woe  was  exchanged  for  one  of  pleasure.  Then  she 
slept  calmly,  and  I  wondered  if  the  spirit  would  go 
home  in  that  peaceful  slumber.  But  at  length  she 
awoke,  and  after  looking  upon  me  and  her  little  room 
with  a  bewildered  air,  she  heaved  a  sigh,  and  said 
mournfully,  "  I  thought  that  I  was  not  to  come  back 
again,  but  it  is  only  for  a  little  while.  I  have  had  a 
pleasant  dream,  but  not  at  first.  I  thought  once  that  I 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  multitude,  and  we  were 
all  looking  up  at  one  who  was  struggling  on  a  gallows. 


76  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

O,  I  have  seen  that  sight  in  many  a  dream  before,  but 
still  I  could  not  bear  it,  and  I  said,  '  Father,  have  mer 
cy  ;  '  and  then  I  thought  that  the  sky  rolled  away  from 
behind  the  gallows,  and  there  was  a  flood  of  glory 
in  the  depths  beyond ;  and  I  heard  a  voice  saying  to 
him  who  was  hanging  there,  'This  day  shalt  thou 
be  with  me  in  Paradise ! '  And  then  the  gallows 
dropped,  and  the  multitude  around  me  vanished,  and 
the  sky  rolled  together  again ;  but  before  it  had  quite 
closed  over  that  scene  of  beauty,  I  looked  again,  and 
they  were  all  there.  Yes,"  added  she,  with  a  placid 
smile,  "I  know  that  h e  is  there  with  them;  the  three 
are  in  heaven,  and  /shall  be  there  soon." 

She  ceased,  and  a  drowsy  feeling  came  over  her. 
After  a  while,  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a  strange  look 
of  anxiety  and  terror.  I  went  to  her,  but  she  could  not 
speak,  and  she  pressed  my  hand  closely,  as  though 
she  feared  I  would  leave  her.  It  was  a  momentary 
terror,  for  she  knew  that  the  last  pangs  were  coming. 
There  was  a  painful  struggle,  and  then  came  rest  and 
peaceful  confidence.  "  That  letter,"  whispered  she 
convulsively ;  and  I  went  to  the  Bible,  and  took  from 
it  the  soiled  paper  which  claimed  her  thoughts  even  in 
death.  I  laid  it  in  her  trembling  hands,  which  clasped 
it  nervously,  and  then  pressing  it  to  her  heart,  she  fell 
into  that  slumber  from  which  there  is  no  awakening. 

When  I  saw  that  she  was  indeed  gone,  I  took  the 
letter  and  laid  it  in  its  accustomed  place ;  and  then, 
after  straightening  the  limbs,  and  throwing  the  bed 
clothes  over  the  stiffening  form,  I  left  the  house. 

It  was  a  dazzling  scene  of  winter  beauty  that  met 
my  eye,  as  I  went  forth  from  that  lowly  bed  of  death. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  77 

The  rising  sun  threw  a  rosy  light  upon  the  crusted 
snow,  and  the  earth  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  sparkling 
jewels.  The  trees  were  hung  with  glittering  drops, 
and  the  frozen  streams  were  dressed  in  robes  of  bril 
liant  beauty. 

I  thought  of  her  upon  whose  eyes  a  brighter  morn 
had  beamed,  and  of  a  scene  of  beauty  upon  which  no 
sun  should  ever  set. 

I  went  home,  and  told  my  mother  what  had  passed; 
and  she  went,  with  some  others,  to  prepare  the  body 
for  burial.  I  went  to  look  upon  it  once  more  — the 
morning  of  the  funeral.  The  features  had  assumed  a 
rigid  aspect,  but  the  placid  smile  was  still  there.  The 
hands  were  crossed  upon  the  breast ;  and  as  the  form 
lay  so  still  and  calm  in  its  snowy  robes,  I  almost  wish 
ed  that  the  last  change  might  come  upon  me,  so  that  it 
would  bring  a  peace  like  this  which  should  last  for- 
evermore. 

I  went  to  the  Bible,  and  took  from  it  that  letter. 
Curiosity  was  strong  within  me,  and  I  opened  it.  It  was 
signed  "John  L.,"  and  dated  from  his  prison,  the  night 
before  his  execution.  But  I  did  not  read  it.  O  no  !  it 
was  too  sacred.  It  contained  those  words  of  penitence 
and  affection  over  which  her  stricken  heart  had  brood 
ed  for  years.  It  had  been  the  well-spring  from  which 
she  had  drunk  joy  and  consolation,  and  derived  her 
hopes  of  a  reunion  where  there  should  be  no  more 
shame,  nor  sorrow,  nor  death. 

I  could  not  destroy  that  letter ;  so  I  laid  it  beneath 

the  clasped  hands,  over  the  heart  to  which  it  had  been 

pressed  when  its  beatings  were  forever  stilled  ;  and  they 

buried  her,  too,  in  the  corner  of  the  church-yard  :  and 

7* 


78  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

that  tattered  paper  soon  mouldered  to  ashes  upon  her 
breast.         *         *         * 

We  have  now  a  bell  upon  our  new  meeting-house  ; 
and  when  I  hear  its  sabbath-morning  peal,  my  thoughts 
are  subdued  to  a  tone  fitting  for  sacred  worship ;  for 
my  mind  goes  back  to  that  old  couple,  whom  T  was 
wont  to  call  "  the  first  bells  ;  "  and  I  think  of  the  pow 
er  of  religion  to  hallow  and  strengthen  the  affections, 
to  elevate  the  mind,  and  sustain  the  drooping  spirit, 
even  in  the  saddest  and  humblest  lot  of  life. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

From  THE  WIFE,  one  of  the  illustrations  of  the  affections  in  Factory  Life. 

I  CANNOT  now  tell  you  all  of  the  sad  experience  of 
that  time,  of  all  that  I  suffered,  and  also  of  that  which 
I  enjoyed;  for.  in  time,  the  better  feelings  displaced 
those  more  unworthy,  and  observation  and  reflection 
did  their  work  in  enlightening  me  with  regard  to 
myself  and  others.  I  was  now  among  the  poor  and 
unsophisticated.  I  heard  the  complaints  of  the  ne 
glected  and  the  ignorant,  and  I  was  taught  much 
real  knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  I  was  sad  and 
stricken,  and  I  met  with  universal  kindness  and  sym 
pathy.  I  had  always  thought  these  girls  an  almost 
unmixed  compound  of  envy,  injustice  and  ill  will. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  79 

These  feelings  had  been  awakened  in  them  by  me, 
and  others  like  myself,  but  now  there  was  an  entire 
change  of  feeling  and  demeanor.  O,  Helen  !  it  may 
do  us  good  to  descend  for  a  time  into  the  cold,  dark 
gulf  where  so  many  always  dwell ;  and  I  now  often 
ask  myself  this  question  :  Why  has  the  sun  of  pros 
perity  shone  upon  so  large  a  portion  of  my  earthly 
path,  while  so  many,  quite  as  worthy,  walk  always  in 
the  shade?  And  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  consid 
er  my  present  exemption  from  that  hard  toil  and  trial 
an  unmerited  privilege,  but  not  a  right.  If  the  same 
task  should  ever  again  appear  in  the  line  of  duty  I 
would  perform  it,  without  feeling  that  there  was  one 
claim  for  approval  as  an  act  of  heroism  or  self-sacri 
fice. 

But  you  will  ask,  Is  the  trial  now  wholly  over? 
Are  all  admirers  of  your  past  conduct?  Do  not  the 
vain  and  fashionable  sneer  at  her  who  was  once  a  fac 
tory  operative  ?  There  are  many  who  regard  me  with 
astonishment.  They  look  at  me  as  they  would  at  an 
ogre  or  a  mermaid.  They  cannot  conceive  why  a  fac 
tory  did  not  metamorphose  me  into  something  less  than 
human.  These  amuse  me  :  and  then  there  are  others 
who  look  upon  my  past  conduct  as  the  effect  of  melan 
choly  ;  they  pity  me.  and  rejoice  that  my  sadness  and 
its  cause  are  removed.  But,  when  I  meet  with  those 
who  exhibit  contempt  and  arrogance,  their  conduct 
places  them  too  far  beneath  me  to  permit  me  to  be 
either  wounded  or  offended.  O.  how  strong  I  feel  then, 
in  the  powers  which  had  once  lain  dormant  within  me, 
and  in  those  which  I  had  in  that  toil  acquired.  What 
would  these  weak  creatures  have  done  in  my  place  ? 


80  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

And  what  would  have  become  of  me  had  I  been  like 
them  ?  I  should  now  be  beggarly  dependent  upon  my 
wealthy  relatives,  and  my  deserted  husband  perhaps  a 
corpse.  But  now  we  are  happier  and  dearer  to  each 
other  than  we  have  ever  been  before,  for  the  love  is 
stronger  and  purer,  which  has  suffered  and  struggled, 
than  that  which  has  merely  enjoyed.  But,  indeed, 
there  may  be  enjoyment  even  in  suffering  and  labor. 
That,  which  once  would  have  appeared  so  terrible  to 
me  that  I  should  have  been  paralyzed  with  horror 
at  the  prospect  of  it,  was  not  thus  dreadful  in  endu 
rance.  Do  you  not  remember  how  often  we  have  sat 
in  our  cheerful  parlor,  listening  to  the  howling  storm 
which  beat  against  the  windows?  And  if  we  were 
obliged  to  go  out,  how  we  dreaded  to  meet  it !  But 
when  we  had  submitted  ourselves  to  its  horrors  how 
they  vanished,  as  we  passed  on !  How  many  of  its 
terrors  had  been  imaginary !  The  wind  and  the  rain 
and  the  darkness  were  not  so  awful  as  we  had  suppos 
ed.  Thus  it  is  in  the  storms  of  life ;  and  it  is  in  these 
times  also  that  our  perceptions  of  spiritual  things  are 
quickened  and  refined ;  that  the  unseen  world  becomes 
more  visible ;  that  faith  seems  lost  in  sight,  and  hope 
in  fruition.  Then  our  purest  aspirations  go  up,  and 
GOD'S  richest  blessings  come  down. 

Yes,  there  are  times  in  our  earthly  pilgrimage  when 
we  come  to  a  desert  place — the  sun  sets  upon  us,  and 
we  are  weary  and  alone.  We  lay  ourselves  upon  the 
cold,  hard  ground,  and  our  heads  are  pillowed  upon 
stones.  The  darkness  thickens  around  us  ;  but,  in  the 
depth  of  the  gloom,  Heaven  is  opened  above  us — a 
ladder  is  placed  between  the  earth  and  parted  sky, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS. 


81 


and  angels  are  ascending  and  descending  upon  it 
The  dark  night  passes  away — morning  dawns  upon 
us;  we  rise,  invigorated,  to  pursue  our  journey;  but 
that  spot  is  gratefully  marked  by  some  pillar  of  re 
membrance,  and  we  say  of  the  scene  of  our  trial, 
'•'  Surely,  this  is  none  other  than  the  house  of  GOD — this 
is  the  gate  of  heaven.  " 


SKETCHES  OF  THE  PAST.    No.  1. 

FATHER  MOODY. 

'AND  who,'  methinks  I  hear  some  one  ask,  'was 
Father  Moody? '  Gentle  querist!  he  was  one  of  the  old 
New  England  clergymen,  in  the  days  co'  lang  syne,' 
when  they  could  step  the  earth  with  an  air  which 
seemed  to  say,  '  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey ; '  and 
he  was  one  of  the  most  renowned  of  that  noted  order 
of  men.  '  His  fame  went  abroad  through  all  the  coun 
try  round  about,'  that  is,  the  District  of  Maine  —  for 
that  was  long  before  it  was  a  State  —  and  even  to  the 
farthest  corner  of  New  England.  The  cause  of  this 
notoriety  was  probably  his  eccentricity,  for  his  talents, 
though  undisputed,  raised  him  not  so  much  above  his 
fellow-men,  as  his  oddities  removed  him  from  them. 

When  he  lived,  I  cannot  exactly  say ;  but  as  he  was 
my  great-great-great-grandfather,  it  must  have  been  a 
great,  great,  great  while  ago.  He  was  the  minister  of 


82  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

York,  the  oldest  (and  at  that  time  the  chief)  town  in 
Maine.  The  following  anecdotes  will  illustrate  his 
character,  and  none  will  be  related  but  those  which  are 
well  authenticated,  though  many  others  are  extant. 

The  first  I  shall  narrate  displays  his  oddity,  more 
than  his  good  nature ;  and  of  that  it  is  a  pretty  fair 
specimen. 

Madam  Moody  was  very  fond  of  riding  on  horse 
back,  and  her  husband  often  gratified  her  by  a  seat  on 
the  pillion,  when  he  took  an  airing.  But  sometimes  he 
would  tell  his  lady  to  prepare  for  a  ride,  and  when  the 
horse  was  saddled  and  pillioned,  he  would  mount  him, 
and  ride  around  the  yard,  while  madam  was  impa 
tiently  waiting  upon  the  horse-block.  After  a  while 
he  would  dismount,  and  send  the  horse  away.  '  But, 
Mr.  Moody,'  his  spouse  would  exclaim,  '  you  promised 
me  a  ride.  Why  do  you  treat  me  thus  ? ' 

'To  teach  you  to  bear  disappointment,  Mrs.  Moody,' 
would  be  the  amiable  reply.  'This  is  to  exercise  your 
patience,  and  give  you  an  opportunity  for  self-control.' 

So  Mrs.  Moody  would  exercise  her  locomotives,  by 
descending  from  the  block,  returning  to  the  house,  and 
divesting  herself  of  her  riding  habiliments,  without 
uttering  a  reproachful  word,  though  perhaps  thinking 
that  there  is  no  need  of  making  opportunities  for  the 
exercise  of  these  virtues. 

A  young  clergyman  was  once  visiting  him,  and  on 
the  morning  of  the  Sabbath  he  asked  him  if  he  would 
not  preach. 

'  Oh  no,  Father  Moody,'  was  the  young  gentleman's 
reply ;  '  I  am  travelling  for  my  health,  and  wish  to  be 
entirely  relieved  from  clerical  duties.  Besides,  you, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  83 

sir,  are  a  distinguished  father  in  Israel,  and  one  whom 
I  have  long  wished  to  have  an  opportunity  of  hearing, 
and  I  hope  to-day  for  that  gratification.' 

'  Well,'  said  the  old  man,  as  they  wended  their  way 
to  the  meeting-house,  '  you  will  sit  with  me  in  the  pul 
pit?' 

It  was  perfectly  immaterial,  the  young  minister  re 
plied;  he  could  sit  in  the  pulpit,  or  the  pew,  as  Father 
Moody  preferred.  So  when  they  entered  the  meeting 
house,  Father  Moody  stalked  on,  turned  his  companion 
up  the  pulpit  stairs,  and  went  himself  into  the  parson 
age  pew. 

The  young  man  looked  rather  blank  when  he  found 
himself  alone,  and  waited  a  long  while  for  his  host  to 
'come  to  the  rescue.'  But  there  Father  Moody  sat  be 
fore  him,  as  straight  and  stiff  as  a  stake  or  a  statue, 
and  finding  there  was  to  be  no  reprieve  for  him,  he 
opened  the  Bible,  and  went  through  with  the  exer 
cises.  Perhaps  the  excitement  caused  by  this  strange 
treatment  might  have  enlivened  his  brain ;  at  all  events 
he  preached  remarkably  well. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  services,  Father  Moody 
arose  in  his  pew,  and  said  to  the  congregation,  'My 
friends,  we  have  had  an  excellent  discourse  this  morn 
ing,  from  our  young  brother ;  but  you  are  all  indebted 
to  me  for  it.' 

Perhaps  it  was  the  same  young  clergyman,  (and  I 
should  not  wonder  if  it  was  the  very  night  after  this 
clerical  joke,)  of  whom  the  following  anecdote  is  relat 
ed.  He  requested  his  guest  to  lead  the  evening  house 
hold  service,  but  was  answered  by  a  request  to  be  ex 
cused.  '  But  you  will  pray  with  us,'  exclaimed  the 


84  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

old  man.  '  No,  Father  Moody,  I  wish  to  be  excused.' 
'But  you  must  pray.'  '  No,  sir;  I  must  be  excused.' 
'  But  you  shall  pray.'  '  No,  sir ;  I  shall  be  excused.' 
'  I  command  you,  in  the  name  of  Almighty  God,  to 
pray.'  '  Mr.  Moody !  '  replied  the  young  man,  in  a 
determined  voice,  '  you  need  not  attempt  to  brow-beat 
me,  for  I  WON'T  pray.'  'Well,  well,'  exclaimed  the  old 
gentleman,  in  a  discomfited  tone,  '  I  believe  you  have 
more  brass  in  your  face,  than  grace  in  your  heart.' 

A  daughter  of  President  Edwards  was  once  at  his 
house,  upon  a  visit.  '  I  shall  remember  you  in  my 
public  prayers  this  morning,'  said  he  to  her,  one  Sab 
bath,  as  they  started  for  meeting.  '  No !  oh,  no ! 
Father  Moody,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  do  so.  I  entreat  of 
you  not  to  do  it.'  But  in  his  morning  service,  he  did 
pray  for  the  young  lady  who  was  then  an  inmate  of 
his  family,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  distinguish 
ed  divines,  and  while  all  eyes  were  probably  directed  to 
the  parsonage  pew,  he  continued,  '  She  begged  me  not 
to  mention  her  in  my  prayers,  but  I  told  her  I  would? 

Father  Moody  was  very  direct  and  fearless  in  his 
rebukes  to  the  evil-doers ;  and  he  wished  always  to 
see  them  shrink  and  cower  beneath  his  reproof  and 
frown ;  but  in  one  instance,  at  least,  he  was  not  grati 
fied. 

Col.  Ingrahame,  a  wealthy  parishioner,  had  retained 
his  large  stock  of  corn,  in  time  of  great  scarcity,  in 
hopes  of  raising  the  price.  Father  Moody  heard  of  it, 
and  resolved  upon  a  public  attack  upon  the  transgres 
sor.  So  he  arose  in  his  pulpit,  one  Sabbath,  and  named 
as  his  text,  Proverbs  xi.  26,  '  He  that  withholdeth 
corn,  the  people  shall  curse  him  :  but  blessings  shall  be 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  85 

upon  the  head  of  him  that  selleth  it.'  Col.  Ingrahame 
could  not  but  know  to  whom  reference  was  made  ;  but 
he  held  up  his  head,  and  faced  his  pastor,  with  a  look  of 
stolid  unconsciousness.  Father  Moody  went  on  with 
some  very  applicable  remarks,  but  Col.  Ingrahame  still 
pretended  not  to  understand  the  allusion.  Father 
Moody  grew  very  warm,  and  became  still  more  direct 
in  his  remarks  upon  matters  and  things.  But  Col.  In 
grahame  still  held  up  his  head,  as  high,  perhaps  a  little 
higher  than  ever,  and  would  not  put  on  the  coat  so 
aptly  prepared  for  him.  Father  Moody  at  length  lost 
all  patience.  '  Col.  Ingrahame  !  '  said  he,  '  Col.  In 
grahame  !  You  know  that  I  mean  YOU.  WHY  DON'T 

YOU  HANG  DOWN  YOUR  HEAD  ?  ' 

Mrs.  Ingrahame,  the  Colonel's  lady,  was  very  fond 
of  fine  dress,  and  sometimes  appeared  at  meeting  in  a 
style  not  exactly  accordant  with  her  pastor's  ideas  of 
Christian  female  propriety.  One  morning  she  came 
sweeping  into  church,  in  a  new  hooped  dress,  which 
was  then  very  fashionable.  '  Here  she  comes,'  said 
Father  Moody  from  the  pulpit,  '  Here  she  comes,  top 
and  top-gallant,  rigged  most  beautifully,  and  sailing 
most  majestically ;  but  she  has  a  leak  that  will  sink 
her  to  hell? 

The  old  gentleman  was  something  of  a  sportsman, 
and  occasionally,  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  he  would 
bring  Madam  Moody  a  fine  goose,  to  grace  her  dinner 
table.  One  morning  he  took  down  his  fowling-piece, 
and  said  to  his  wife,  '  If  I  shoot  one  goose,  I  will  bring 
it  to  you,  but  if  I  bring  down  two  I  shall  devote  one  of 
them  to  the  Lord.' 

'  And  what  will  you  do  with  it  ?  ' 
8 


86  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

'  I  will  give  it  to  that  poor  widow,  over  the  way." 

He  brought  home  two,  but  they  were  very  different 
— one  of  them  a  remarkably  fine,  large  bird :  the  other, 
much  inferior.  Madam  Moody  wished  him  to  reserve 
the  larger  one  for  himself.  '  No,  no,  Mrs.  Moody,'  re 
plied  her  husband,  '  the  Lord  shall  have  the  best,' 
and  he  carried  it  to  the  poor  woman,  in  defiance  of  his 
wife's  objections. 

Father  Moody  would  not  receive  a  regular  salary, 
and  was  indeed  so  negligent  of  pecuniary  affairs,  that 
the  parish  appointed  a  committee,  to  see  that  the 
parsonage  house  was  supplied  with  wood,  meal, 
meat,  and  other  necessaries.  He  was  very  generous  ; 
and  it  has  been  said  that  he  took  his  wife's  shoes  off 
her  feet,  to  give  to  a  bare-footed  beggar.  This  may  be 
true ;  but  if  so,  it  is  probable  the  good  lady  had  a  bet 
ter  pair  '  up  stairs.' 

One  time  when  he  was  going  to  Boston,  to  attend  a 
great  Conference,  or  Convention,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  accompanied  by  Elder  Soward,  as  delegate,  he 
saw  a  poor  man  in  the  hands  of  the  officers,  who  were 
taking  him  to  jail,  for  debt.  Father  Moody  inquired 
the  amount  for  which  he  was  to  be  imprisoned,  and 
found  that  he  had  sufficient  to  defray  the  debt,  which 
he  immediately  did,  and  the  poor  man  was  liberated. 
'  Elder  Soward,'  said  he  to  his  companion,  '  I  must 
depend  upon  you  to  bear  the  expenses  of  my  journey, 
for  I  have  nothing  left.'  The  Elder  ventured  respect 
fully  to  question  the  propriety  and  prudence  of  his 
conduct  in  thus  rendering  himself  so  dependent ;  but 
the  old  clergyman  replied,  '  Elder  Soward,  does  not 
the  Bible  say,  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  and 
thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days  ? ' 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  87 

Towards  evening,  they  reached  the  city;  and  the 
good  people  of  that  good  city  came  out  upon  Boston 
Common,  to  see  the  famous  Father  Moody ;  then,  as 
now,  ever  ready,  to  bestow  attention  upon  talent  and 
piety.  Elder  Soward  did  not  fail  to  relate  the  morn 
ing's  adventure,  and  after  they  had  retired  to  their 
lodgings,  a  waiter  brought  Father  Moody  a  sealed 
packet.  He  opened  it,  and  found  that  it  enclosed  the 
precise  sum  which  he  had  given  to  the  poor  man  in  the 
morning.  Whether  it  was  the  benefaction  of  some 
one  benevolent  individual,  or  the  proceeds  of  a  sub 
scription,  '  our  deponent  saith  not ; '  but  the  old  man 
turned  to  his  companion,  exclaiming,  '  Elder  Soward  ! 
I  cast  my  bread  upon  the  waters  in  the  morning,  and 
behold !  it  is  returned  to  me  in  the  evening.' 

When  the  war  vessel  was  officered  and  manned  for 
an  attack  upon  Cape  Breton,  and  the  sailors  were 
ready  to  start  her  from  the  wharf,  it  was  proposed  that 
Father  Moody  should  crave  a  blessing  upon  the  enter 
prise.  The  seamen  were  discomfited,  fearing  a  long 
detention,  but  the  old  clergyman  uncovered  his  head, 
and  lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven, he  prayed,  "O  LORD!  for 
Christ's  sake  give  us  Cape  Breton.  Amen.  Now  you 
may  hoist !  " 

One  of  the  best  anecdotes,  and  the  one  with  which 
I  will  close  this  sketch,  is  as  follows  :  He  was  chosen 
chaplain  when  the  American  army  was  at  Cape  Bre 
ton  :  and  when  a  splendid  dinner  was  to  be  given,  in 
honor  of  the  officers  who  took  Louisburg,  they  wished 
Father  Moody  to  crave  the  blessing  at  table,  thinking 
that  as  he  was  then  an  old  man,  and  such  an  old  man, 
he  would  not  detain  them  with  a  very  protracted  exer- 


88  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

else.  The  old  man  arose,  and  said,  l  We  bless  thee, 
O  Lord  !  for  the  great  and  glorious  victory,  with  which 
thou  hast  favored  us ;  but  so  varied  and  numberless 
are  thy  mercies,  that  our  thanksgiving  for  them  we 
will  defer  unto  eternity.  Amen.' 


DEAL  GENTLY. 

"  Can  you  name  her  now  so  lightly  ? 

Once  the  idol  of  you  all : — 
When  a  star  has  shone  so  brightly, 

Can  you  glory  in  its  fall  ?  "  T.  MOORE. 

THERE  were  loud  voices  in  Madam  Bradshaw's  little 
sitting-room :  tones  of  anger,  derision,  and  reproach, 
uttering  words  of  detraction.  Madam  sat  silently  lis 
tening  to  her  young  visitors,  but  her  brow  contracted, 
and  her  lips  compressed,  as  harsh  feelings  seemed  to 
strengthen  by  an  open  expression  of  them.  She  re 
membered  that  just  one  year  before  this  Sophy  Melton 
had  come  to  visit  her,  with  the  same  young  ladies  who 
were  now  paying  her  their  annual  visit. 

Madam  Bradshaw  was  the  widow  of  the  old  village 
clergyman ;  who,  when  he  died,  left  her  poor,  though 
not  destitute.  In  the  parish  she  had  been  much  re 
spected  and  beloved,  and  there  was  no  fear  that  Mad 
am  would  ever  be  left  to  want,  among  so  many  friends. 
They  had  a  very  delicate  way  of  bestowing  their  boun 
ty,  and  made  several  annual  parties ;  when  they  went  to 
the  old  parsonage  always  "carrying  their  welcome." 
The  children  went  when  her  cherries  were  ripe ;  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  89 

married  ladies  at  Thanksgiving  time,  bringing  their 
bounties  ;  the  elderly  spinsters — considerate  souls — just 
after  Fast,  and  did  her  spring  cleaning  for  her,  and  re 
plenished  her  exhausted  winter  stores.  The  misses 
came  when  her  roses  were  in  blossom,  and  her  front 
garden  was  one  little  wilderness  of  fragrant  beauty. 
Then  they  did  up  her  summer  caps,  collars,  and  neck 
erchiefs,  and  saw  that  her  wardrobe  needed  no  addi 
tion. 

Among  those  who  came  with  the  roses,  "herself  a 
fairer  flower,"  had  been  Sophy  Melton;  but  this  year 
she  was  absent,  and  Madam  missed  her  bright  smile 
and  sweet  voice.  The  morning  was  busily  passed  by 
the  girls  in  washing,  starching,  and  ironing — the  after 
noon  in  mending  and  making  for  the  good  old  lady. 

But  now  the  sewing  was  all  done,  the  tea-table  had 
been  nicely  cleared  away,  and,  as  twilight  came  on,  the 
girls  sat  in  the  old  parlor  talking  of  their  past  and  fu 
ture  annual  visits.  How  they  loved  this  old  room — 
the  old  pictures  in  their  heavy  frames — the  dark  ma 
hogany,  polished  to  the  brightness  of  crystal — the  worn 
and  faded  but  spotless  carpet,  the  old  china,  as  perfect 
as  ever — the  well  kept  silver,  and  her  store  of  curiosi 
ties,  as  curious  as  ever.  Then  there  were  her  portraits, 
upon  which  they  all  loved  to  gaze.  There  was  the 
old  pastor  himself,  looking  at  them  from  the  canvass 
as  benignly  as  he  had  ever  done  from  the  pulpit. — 
There  was  the  son,  who  had  gone  a  missionary  to  for 
eign  lands,  and  left  name  and  fame,  if  nought  else,  to 
his  fond  mother.  There  was  the  noble  boy,  too, 
who  left  his  mother  for  a  long  voyage  to  the  Arctic 
seas,  and  was  never  heard  of  more.  There  was  the 
8* 


90  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

mild  but  steadfast  daughter,  who  had  gone  to  the  far 
West,  and  laid  down  her  life  in  that  home  missionary 
enterprise,  the  education  of  the  young.  The  girls  loved 
to  look  upon  those  relics,  and  feel,  awakening  in  them 
selves,  aspirations  for  that  excellence  which  had  been 
embodied  and  lived  by  those  who  had  now  passed 
away. 

Perhaps  they  imagined  they  were  showing  respect 
for  virtue  by  their  severe  remarks  upon  Sophy  Melton; 
but  Madam  Bradshaw  was  evidently  displeased..  At 
length  she  spoke : 

"  Can  you  name  her  now  so  lightly  ?  "  &c. 

The  girls  were  abashed  for  a  moment. 

But  Caroline  Freeman  replied,  '•  Ma'  Bradshaw.  1 
have  not  yet  spoken  ;  but  I  have  not  attempted  to  stop 
my  friends,  for  it  has  always  appeared  to  me  that  the 
reproach  of  the  good  was  but  the  just  penalty  for  this 
violation  of  the  laws  of  virtue.  Sophy's  error  has  not 
brought  upon  her  poverty,  pain,  or  any  diminution  of 
the  physical  enjoyments  of  life.  If  her  friends  must 
still,  from  motives  of  compassion  or  philanthropy, 
countenance  her,  where  is  the  punishment  society 
should  inflict  for  contempt  of  its  opinions?  " 

"I  asked  you  not  to  countenance  her,  or  associate 
with  her,  not  to  speak  lightly  of  her  sin,  or  accustom 
yourselves  to  think  of  it  as  a  venial  error;  but,  my 
dear  girls,  I  only  beg  of  you  to  deal  gently.  Let  com 
passion,  rather  than  resentment,  influence  your  thoughts 
of  her.  I  have  seen  anger  where  I  would  have  beheld 
grief.  Moreover,  may  there  not  be  too  much  self-con 
fidence  exhibited  in  such  remarks  ?  You  place  your- 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  91 

selves  among  the  good.  Sophy  has  perhaps  once 
thought  herself  as  good,  as  safe  as  either  of  you.  She 
was  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  fascinating  of  you  all, 
therefore  the  most  tried  and  tempted.  Be  not  angry 
with  me,  when  I  bid  you  ask  yourselves  whether  there 
is  not  a  little  gratified  envy  in  all  these  aspersions  of 
your  fallen  sister ;  whether  there  is  not  a  slight  feeling 
of  triumph,  that  the  first  has  now  become  the  last; 
that  she  who  was  greatest  is  now  the  least  among 
you  ?  " 

"  O,  Ma'  Bradshaw  !  deal  gently  with  us.  We  nev 
er  envied  her ;  we  were  proud  that  one  so  beautiful, 
and,  as  we  thought,  so  good,  was  of  our  little  band. 
We  do  not  rejoice,  we  mourn  that  the  most  beautiful 
star  is  lost  from  our  little  constellation.  But,  how  are 
we  to  show  our  hatred  of  wickedness,  unless  we  speak 
severely  of  sin?  Were  we  to  speak  mildly  of  this 
fault,  might  we  not  be  misunderstood?  You  must  re 
member  that  our  principles  have  not  been  tested  by  a 
long  life,  as  our  dear  Ma'  Bradshaw's  have  been." 

"  My  dear  girls,"  said  Madam,  "  do  not  think  there 
is  no  better  way  of  showing  your  detestation  of  sin 
than  by  reproach  or  vituperation  of  the  fellow-being 
who  has  fallen  into  it,  Keep  your  own  garments  spot 
less,  your  own  hearts  clean,  your  own  hands  unstained, 
and  then  fear  not  that  your  commiseration  of  the  sin 
ful  and  guilty  will  ever  be  misunderstood — that  pity 
will  be  mistaken  for  sympathy,  that  kindness  will  be 
thought  weakness.  Never  fear,  with  a  clear  conscience 
and  a  firm  heart,  to  deal  gently. 


92  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

ONE  evening,  after  leaving  the  tea-table,  I  repaired  to 
my  chamber,  to  prepare  to  go  out.  As  I  was  engaged 
in  some  of  the  preliminary  exercises  of  the  toilet,  I 
thought  that,  amidst  the  confused  chorus  of  female 
voices,  which  reached  me  from  the  lower  rooms,  I 
could  discern  the  more  gutteral  tones  of  a  specimen  of 
the  other  gender ;  and  as  it  continued  to  increase  in 
force,  and  emphasis,  my  curiosity  was  aroused  to  know 
from  whom  proceeded  this  admirable  flow  of  harmony 
and  eloquence. 

"Pray,  who  is  down  stairs,  talking  so  earnestly?" 
said  I,  as  my  fellow-boarder  opened  my  door. 

"  It's  old ,"  replied  she,  naming  a  notorious  pro 
fessor;  "  he  's  trying  to  get  some  of  the  girls  to  attend 
his  lectures.  Run  down  now,  if  you  want  to  see  him, 
for  I  suppose  he  '11  go  away  soon/' 

I  had  heard  considerable  about  the  gentleman,  and 
felt  quite  a  portion  of  Mother  Eve's  frailty  prompting 
me  to  "go  and  see  for  myself;  "  and  so,  as  did  the 
Queen  of  iSheba,  when  she  wished  to  satisfy  her  own 
eyes  respecting  the  wise  monarch  of  old,  I  resolved  to 
enter  the  august  presence.  There  was  no  time  to  be 
lost,  for  judging  from  thesquick  intonations  which  had 
assailed  my  ears,  I  expected  that  "  business  was  to  be 
done  in  short  metre;"  so,  hastily  twisting  together 
the  locks  which  were  dangling  around  my  face  and 
eyes,  and  sticking  them  all  together,  with  a  comb,  at 
the  top  of  my  cranium,  I  descended,  bare-armed  and 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  93 

shoeless,  to  the  place  of  exhibition.  I  dropped,  unob 
served,  into  a  chair  near  the  door,  from  which  I  had 
an  excellent  view  of  the  scene  and  actors.  The  pro 
fessor,  a  tall,  stalwart  man  with  a  frock-coat,  and — 
but  I  will  not  stop  to  describe  him,  and  those  who 
have  not  seen  him,  may  be  assured  that  he  is  a  sort 
of  a  unique,  a  nondescript,  who  would  require  the 
pencil  of  a  Hogarth,  or  goose-quill  of  a  Boz,  to  do  him 
justice;  and  a  sight  of  whom  is  certainly  worthy  of 
some  effort :  but  I  will  endeavor  to  give  some  slight 
idea  of  the  deportment  of  this  highly  refined,  and  ex 
ceedingly  intellectual,  gentleman,  in  a  factory  board 
ing-house.  He  was  vehemently  holding  forth  to  three 
girls,  one  of  them  the  inmate  of  a  neighboring  tene 
ment,  when  I  entered. 

"  Now,  ladies,"  said  he,  showing  his  teeth,  and  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  and  then  wringing  them,  and  twist 
ing  them  all  manner  of  ways;  "now,  ladies,  only 
think — two  shillings — only  two  shillings  for  a  ticket, 
which  will  admit  you  to  a  whole  course  of  my  lectures 
— did  you  ever  see  any  thing  so  cheap  in  your  life — 
now  you  will  go,  won't  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  once  to  your  lectures,"  replied  M., 
"  and  I  don't  care  about  going  again." 

"  When  did  you  go  1 "  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  When  you  lectured  in  the  Methodist  meeting 
house,"  was  her  reply. 

"  Oh,  that  was  just  after  I  had  been  burned  out ;  I 
had  lost  almost  all  my  things  then — had  n't  half  so 
many  as  I  've  got  now.  Now  I  know  you'd  like  to  go, 
and  see  my  new  pictures.  Now  should  n't  you  1 "  and 
he  showed  his  teeth  again,  in  what  he  intended  should 


94 


be  a  most  winning  manner,  and  wrung  his  hands  with 
renewed  energy. 

"I  do  not  care  about  going,"  returned  M. 

"Well,  these  ladies  will  go,  now  I  know  they  will," 
said  he,  turning  to  the  other  two,  and  the  ivory  was 
most  bountifully  displayed;  '-only  think,  ladies,  only 
two  shillings,  for  a  whole  course — there  could  n't  be 
any  thing  cheaper  now,  could  there?  Why,  the  old 
witch  there,  Madame  Adolph,  asks  you  half  a  dollar 
for  telling  your  fortunes  ;  doing  nothing  only  jest  tell 
ing  your  fortunes  ;  and  when  you  go  to  the  circus,  you 
have  to  give  twenty-five  cents.  Now  you  see  I  don't 
charge  but  two  shillings  for  a  whole  course  of  six  lec 
tures  ;  only  think  now,  not  fourpence  an  evening,  and 
you'll  get  some  ideas  now  that  you  '11  never  get  rid  of 
as  long  as  you  live.  " 

"  Oh  dear  !  how  dry  I  am,  talking  so  much — won't 
you  hand  me  some  sweetened  water,  ma'am  ? — have  it 
pretty  sweet,  ma'am.  I  took  three  dollars  over  to 
Mrs.  H.'s,  and  didn't  have  to  talk  half  so  long  as  I 
have  here  ;  only  think  now,  only  jest  two  shillings,  for 
six  lectures,  and  you  '11  get  some  ideas  that  will  last 
you  always — two  shillings,  that's  always  my  price." 

"  How  many  are  there  in  your  class  1 "  asked  B. 

"  Four  or  five  hundred,  ma'am — why  they  come 
from  all  the  houses  along  here,  the  landladies  and  all, 
ma'am.  I  have  six  or  eight  from  some  of  the  houses, 
and  did  n't  have  to  talk  half  so  long  as  I  have  here. — 
Yes,  ma'am,  I  've  got  four  or  five  hundred,  ma'am." 

"  Then  you  've  got  enough  without  me,"  replied  she, 
flouncing  out  of  the  room. 

"  Oh  stop,  ma'am,"  cried  he,  following  her  so  swift- 


OF    THE  SEA    OF    GENIUS.  95 

ly  that  he  forgot  to  show  his  teeth,  and  rub  his  hands, 
"  stop,  ma'am — there  '11  be  plenty  of  room  ;  you  won't 
be  at  all  crowded,  ma'am ;  "  but  she  was  already  out 
of  sight,  and  hearing. 

"  Well,  ladies,"  said  he,  as  he  returned  to  the  room, 
not  in  the  least  disconcerted,  and  showing  his  teeth, 
and  rubbing  his  hands,  as  amiably  as  ever,  "  now  you 
will  go,  won't  you  ?  —  you  two  may  go  for  fifty  cents. 
T  put  it  down  so  low  because  you,  ma'am,"  said  he, 
turning  to  M.,  "have  patronized  me  before.  Oh 
dear,  how  tired  I  am,  talking,  and  dry  too,"  he  added, 
drinking  a  tumbler  full  of  molasses  and  water,  which 
looked  as  though,  in  compliance  with  his  request  to 
have  it  "pretty  sweet,"  it  was  about  "  half  and  half." 

"  Now,  ma'am,"  he  recommenced,  after  drawing  a 
long  breath,  "you  see  how  cheap  1  put  you — that's  be 
cause  you  patronized  me  before,  and  I  do  really  want 
you  to  see  my  new  scenery,  you  can't  think  how  splen 
did  it  is — I  know  you  '11  never  repent  it  as  long  as  you 
live,  and  you  see  how  cheap  I  put  you — that 's  because 
you  went  before,  ma'am.  You  and  this  lady  may  go 
for  fifty  cents ;  only  twenty-five  cents  apiece — did  you 
ever  see  anything  cheaper,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  care  about  going,"  replied  M. 

"Well  now,  ma'am,  you'd  better  go.  I  know  you 
will  like  —  you  can't  help  it — every  body  likes  my 
lectures  that  go  to  hear  'em,"  and  he  grinned  again, 
and  rubbed  his  hands,  and  poured  out  some  more  mo 
lasses  and  water. 

"  Oh  dear,  my  lungs  are  sore  talking  so  long.  I  '11 
tell  you  what  I  '11  do,  ma'am ;  if  you  '11  get  three  of 
your  friends  to  come  with  you  —  any  three  you  choose 


96  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

— I  '11  let  you  have  a  ticket  that  will  admit  four  per 
sons  for  a  dollar  ;  that  '11  let  you  in  for  nothing,  ma'am. 
I  '11  call  you  nobody,  ma'am — that 's  because  you  patro 
nized  me  before,  ma'am — and  I  do  want  you  to  see  my 
new  pictures ;  did  you  ever  have  a  better  offer  than 
that,  ma'am  ?  Only  think,  you  '11  get  all  yours  for 
nothing — did  you  ever  see  any  thing  cheaper  in  your 
life — now  you  will  go — won't  you  now  ?  "  and  he 
grinned  again,  and  sipped  some  more  molasses  and 
water. 

"  Why  now,  madam,"  said  he,  turning  from  M.  to 
the  '  stranger  girl/  "  if  you  '11  only  come,  you  '11  see 
things  that  you  never  saw  in  all  you  life  before  ;  the 
sun,  and  moon,  and  planets,  and  eclipses  and  the  little 
insects  magnified  as  big  as  a  hoss,  ma'am,  and  you  '11 
see  the  great  comet,  with  a  great  tail  to  it — and  the 
eclipses  come  on,  and  go  off,  jest  as  if  you  was  away 
up  in  the  sky — and  you  '11  see  the  moon,  with  her 
sharp  horns,  and  how  she  looks  when  she  is  magni 
fied — and  you  '11  see  the  sun  to  be  inhabited  jest  like 
this  earth — folks  there  fifty  miles  high — and  the  dark 
spots  —  them  are  the  shadders,  and  you  '11  see  the 
mountains — and  a  little  grain  of  sand  magnified  as  big 
as  a  goose  egg — now  you  will  go  —  this  lady  '11  tell 
you  that  I  speak  the  truth — she  's  patronized  me  before, 
and  I  'm  well  known  here,  ma'am ;  you  will  go,  won't 
you  now  ?  "  and  he  grinned  again,  and  twisted  his 
hands  together,  and  then  drank  some  more  molasses 
and  water. 

"I  will  go,  if  M.  will  go  with  me,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  she  will  go,  won't  you  now?"  said  he,  turn 
ing  to  M.,  "  only  fifty  cents  for  you  two,  and  if  you  '11 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  97 

get  two  more,  you  may  all  go  for  a  dollar — I  '11  call 
you  nobody,  ma'am,  that 's  because  you  patronized  me 
before,  when  I  lectured  at  the  Methodist  meeting-house 
— did  you  ever  see  any  thing  cheaper — and  here  's  my 
books — only  a  ninepence  a  piece,  if  you  '11  all  go  to 
the  lectures — full  of  pictures  —  only  look  here  —  and 
here  's  the  very  things  that  you  will  see — all  in  a  book, 
that  you  can  carry  home  to  show  to  your  friends,  and 
then  keep  it  forever — see  here  's  a  drop  of  water  mag 
nified — got  twelve  thousand  living  creatures  in  it,  and 
all  of  'em  different — twelve  thousand,  ma'am,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  more  —  and  here  's  a  fly  with 
five  hundred  eyes,  all  over  his  body  —  and  here  's  the 
animals  in  vinegar,  ma'am,  as  big  as  a  goat,  with  horns 
to  'em,  and  you  '11  see  'em  sticking  their  horns  into 
one  another — and  here  's  the  little  things  that  bite  and 
torment  you  so,"  said  he,  turning  to  a  flea,  I  presume, 
and  he  rubbed  his  hands,  and  showed  his  teeth,  and 
drank  some  more  molasses  and  water.  "  My  lungs 
are  really  sore  talking  so  much.  I  did  not  talk  quar 
ter  so  long  at  Mrs.  H.'s.  and  I  took  three  dollars  there 
— now  you  will  go,  won't  you  ?  what 's  two  shillings? 
jest  nothing  at  all.  I  know  you  make  good  wages, 
ma'am,  and  fifty  cents  if  you  will  both  go,  and  only 
a  dollar  if  you  will  get  three  more — that 's  because 
you  patronized  me  before — and  I  do  really  want  you 
to  see  my  pictures,  ma'am — now  you  may  get  any  one 
to  go  with  you  that  you're  a'mind  to — a  beau,  if  you 
have  one — have  you  got  one  ?  if  you  have,  just  bring 
him  with  you,  and  you  can  set  there  together — and 
you  '11  see  the  eclipses — the  eclipse  of  the  moon — and 
the  great  shadder  will  come  on  to  it,  that 's  the  shadder 
9 


98  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

of  the  sun ;  now  you  will  go,  won't  you  ?  You  got 
any  beau  to  bring  with  you,  hey?  "  and  he  displayed 
the  ivory  more  lavishly  than  ever,  and  rubbed  his 
hands  with  tenfold  ardor,  and  then  he  drank  again  at 
the  molasses  and  water.  Just  then  he  happened  to 
espy  me,  and,  with  a  fell  swoop,  he  pounced  upon 
what  he  thought  would  be  a  new  disciple. 

"Now  you  will  go,  won't  you,  ma'am  ?"and  he  grinned 
till  his  mouth  extended  from  one  ear  to  the  other  "  only 
think  it  will  be  only  two  shillings  for  six  lectures,  most 
entertaining  things  you  ever  heard  of.  you  could  n't 
spend  your  time  more  agreeably.  Now  there  's  Mr. 
W.  come  here  to  lecture,  but  he 's  got  to  go  away  again, 
because  my  lectures  have  put  his  completely  down.  I 
haven't  a  word  to  say  against  him;  he's  a  clever 
man  enough,  but  he  ha'n't  got  any  tact — now  you  will 
go  and  hear  mine,  won't  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  was  the  decided  reply. 

'•  Why,  what  is  the  reason  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  have  got  four  looms  to  attend  to,"  said  I,  after 
endeavoring  to  think  of  some  other  reason. 

"Well,  ma'am,  these  lectures  will  be  in  the  evening 
you  know,"  and  he  grinned  most  graciously  upon  me, 
and  then  he  rubbed  his  hands  again,  and  sipped  some 
more  molasses  and  water. 

"  I  have  many  engagements  for  the  evening,"  I  re 
plied,  "  besides  being  usually  very  much  fatigued." 

"  What  do  you  do,  ma'am?  do  you  write?  Do  you 
write  for  the  Lowell  Offering?  " 

"  Sometimes."  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  Well  how  much  do  they  give  you  ?  how  much  do 
you  make  ?  as  much  as  two  hundred  dollars  a  year  — 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  99 

and  you  've  got  now  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank  as 
likely  as  not — and  you  've  got  a  mind,  ma'am.  Now 
it 's  of  no  use  for  those  folks  that  have  n't  any  minds, 
to  try  to  learn  any  thing — but  you  've  got  a  mind,  ma' 
am,  (in  a  whining  sing-song  tone.)  God  has  given  us 
faculties,  which  we  ought  to  improve — immortal  souls 
which  will  never  die, and  we  should  cultivate  our  minds 
by  becoming  acquainted  with  the  wonderful  works  of  na 
ture,  spread  every  where  around  us," — but  just  then  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  another  transient  visitor,  who  had 
entered  the  door,  and,  darting  at  her,  he  again  went 
through  with  his  evolutions. 

But  I  will  weary  my  reader  no  longer  —  it  may  suf 
fice  to  say  that  M.  and  one  more  of  our  boarders  con 
sented  to  go,  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  he  entreated  of 
her  to  use  her  influence  with  her  other  fellow-boarders, 
whom  he  deeply  regretted  that  he  could  not  see,  and 
then  after  promising — no  threatening  —  to  make  us 
another  visitation  at  some  meal  time,  when  we  should 
be  in,  he  drained  the  pitcher  of  the  molasses  and  water, 
put  on  his  farewell  grin,  pocketed  his  cash,  and  rubbed 
his  hands  together  till  he  was  out  of  the  house. 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


FACTORY  ROMANCE. 

FACTORY  GIRLS. —  A  rich  southern  man,  on  a  visit  to  this  city,  happened 
to  find  at  work  in  one  of  the  factories,  a  beautiful  girl,  the  perfection  of  his 
ideal,  to  whom  he  at  length  was  introduced,  and  finding  her  all  he  desired, 
by  the  consent  of  her  friends,  and  amid  the  congratulations  of  many,  she 
became  his  blushing  bride,  and  has  gone  to  preside  over  his  home  at  the 
sunny  South.  The  realities  and  romances  of  the  factories  are  many  and 
interesting.  — Lowell  Vox  Populi. 

The  Lowell  Factory  Girls  afford  a  pretty  constant  theme  of  discourse  for 
certain  newspaper  paragraph  makers.  The  public  are  quite  frequently 
favored  with  remarkable  statements  and  romantic  stories  concerning  them. 
A  few  days  ago  we  had  an  account  of  a  famous  joint-stock  company,  which 
was  about  to  be  formed  among  them,  to  carry  on  a  great  female  cotton  fac 
tory,  by  and  between  themselves  ;  all  probably  to  be  heads,  presidents,  di 
rectors  and  company,  agents,  operatives,  &c.  That  story  and  the  one  above, 
after  having  gone  the  rounds  of  the  papers,  will  turn  out  to  be,  one  just  as 
true  as  the  other.  —  Boston  Traveller. 

Miss  Irene  Nichols,  daughter  of  Mr.  Nathaniel  Nichols,  of  Monmouth, 
Kennebec  county,  while  at  work  in  a  factory  in  Dorchester,  Ms.,  some  few 
years  since,  was  offered  very  liberal  wages  to  go  to  Mexico,  and  engage  in 
a  factory  just  established  there.  She,  with  eight  others,  accepted  the  offer. 
While  there,  she  became  acquainted  with  Herrera,  the  present  revolting 
and  successful  general,  with  whom  she  contracted  marriage.  She  made  a 
visit  to  her  friends  in  Maine,  last  summer,  during  which,  she  received  fre 
quent  letters  from  Herrera.  She  left  here  in  July  or  August  last,  for  Mex 
ico,  via  New  York,  where  she  obtained  a  license,  and  was  united  in  mar 
riage  to  Gen.  Herrera,  by  his  representative,  the  general  not  being  able  to 
leave  Mexico  —  a  step  rendered  necessary,  as  the  parties  were  both  Protes 
tants,  and  could  not  be  married  in  Mexico,  a  Catholic  country.  Herrera  is 
now  President  of  Mexico,  having  his  head-quarters  at  the  national  palace 
in  the  city,  and  this  Kennebec  "  factory  girl  "  now  "  revels  in  the  halls  of 
the  Montezumas."  Gen.  Herrera  is  of  German  extraction,  and  we  are 
given  to  understand  is  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  institutions  of  this  country, 
and  would  not  be  opposed  to  the  union  of  Mexico  with  the  United  States. 
A  society,  extensive  in  its  ramifications,  already  exists  in  Mexico,  with  a 
view  to  the  accomplishment  of  such  a  project.  —  Kennebec  Journal. 

The  Presidentess  of  the  Mexican  Republic,  by  which  we  mean  the  wife 
of  Gen.  Herrera,  now  President,  was  once  a  factory  girl  at  an  establishment 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  101 

in  Mexico,  where  the  General  saw  and  loved  her.  Her  name  is  Irene 
Nichols,  daughter  of  Mr.  Nathaniel  Nichols,  of  Monmouth,  Kennebec 
county,  Me.  This  news  will  create  a  prodigious  sensation  at  Lowell. — 
Exchange  paper. 

THESE  stories,  as  the  Boston  Traveller  asserts,  are 
going  the  rounds  of  the  papers ;  but  we  do  not  fall  in 
with  his  insinuation,  that  they  are  not  true.  Now  we 
happen  to  sit  every  day  at  table  beside  Madam  Herre- 
ra's  cousin  Charley,  and  he  sold  us  the  very  gown  that 
we  now  wear,  and  we  know  that  he  is  a  reality,  a 
stubborn  fact ;  and  Irene  is  a  reality  as  well  as  a 
romance.  She  may  be  fairy-like,  but  she  is  not  a 
fairy.  She  may  be  moonshiny,  but  she  is  not  moon 
shine.  She  may  have  bewitched,  but  she  is  not  a 
witch  —  we  mean  that  she  is  not  one  of  the  old-fash 
ioned  sort,  and  does  not  ride  a  broomstick.  She  is 
not  a  sorceress,  and  has  excited  no  sorcery  but  that  by 
which  thousands  of  our  New  England  girls  could  raise 
themselves  to  the  "  climax  of  woman's  glory,"  if  they 
only  could  bring  the  grandees  of  other  nations  within 
the  influence  of  their  magic.  Who  supposes  that 
Irene  is  not  superior  to  any  other  woman  who  ever 
trod  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas — those  blood-craving 
monsters,  whose  most  enduring  monuments  are  piles  of 
tens  of  thousands  of  human  skulls.  We  will  not  except 
even  her,  the  beautiful  and  beloved  preserver  of  Fer 
nando  Cortez.  And  who  envies  Irene  ?  Is  the  palace 
of  Mexico  a  more  comfortable  home  than  she  might 
easily  have  found  in  Yankee-land?  Does,  she  find 
there  the  thousand  little  comforts  which  here  she 
thought  necessaries  ]  Do  they  have  commodes,  and 
9* 


102  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

workstands,  and  spoolstands,  and  tape-measures,  and 
finger-nail  brushes  ?  And  do  they  have  sleigh-rides, 
"  with  a  band  of  music  sounding  through  the  air?  " 

And  is  it  as  secure  a  home  ?  Do  not  the  ghosts  of 
the  Aztecs  and  the  Toltecs  visit  the  halls  of  their 
fathers  ?  And  if  not,  are  there  not  dungeons  beneath 
the  halls  of  those  splendid  mansions,  where  Irene  and 
her  beloved  general  may  yet  drink  the  cup  of  bitter 
ness?  for  "a  breath  may  fell  them  as  a  breath  has 
raised." 

And  that  other  Southron,  who  found  here  the  "bean 
ideal"  of  his  fancy,  why  should  we  doubt  it  with  the 
Boston  Traveller  ?  Yerily,  he  never  has  travelled 
through  the  mills  of  Lowell,  or  he  would  know  that 
here  every  man  might  be  suited  to  his  taste,  provided 
he  were  willing  to  see  the  same  beauties  and  excellen 
ces  in  a  Lowell  factory  girl  that  he  could  espy  in 
another  lady  of  more  fortunate  circumstances. 

And  this  prodigious  sensation  that  the  last  editor 
anticipates  in  Lowell,  has  not  been  the  result  of  these 
astonishing  marriages.  •  Indeed  we  see  less  astonish 
ment  expressed  than  in  the  papers  of  other  places. 
Perhaps  a  few  romantic  misses  in  their  teens  may 
dream  of  being  queens  in  Oregon,  princesses  in  Wis 
consin,  and  chieftainesses  in  Texas,  but  the  light  of  a 
few  bright  snow-blinding  days  will  banish  these  vis 
ions,  and  they  will  dream  again,  as  Irene  dreamed 
before  she  went  to  Mexico,  of  a  home  where 

"  The  banks  they  are  furnished  with  bees, 

Whose  murmur  invites  one  to  sleep  ; 
The  grottoes  are  shaded  with  trees, 

And  the  hills  are  white  over  with  sheep  ; 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  103 

From  the  plains,  from  the  woodlands  and  groves, 

What  strains  of  wild  melody  flow, 
How  the  nightingales  warble  their  loves 

From  the  thickets  of  roses  that,  blow." 

Let  us,  in  imagination,  now  go  back  to  the  youthful 
home  of  Irene,  and  follow  her  thence  until  her  depart 
ure  for  Mexico. 

It  is  a  large  brown  house,  poking  its  front  into  the 
very  highway,  and  has  a  long  sloping  roof  behind, 
which  almost  touches  the  ground,  and  does  in  fact  de 
scend  to  the  hogshead  of  ley.  It  has  a  little  forest  of 
hen-coops,  and  granaries,  and  pig-pens,  hay-stacks, 
and  well-sweeps,  behind  and  beside  it,  and  directly  in 
front,  "  the  other  side  o'  the  way,"  is  a  huge  barn,  with 
all  the  appurtenances  of  cow-yard,  watering-trough, 
cattle-shed,  chaise-house,  "and  all."  But  though  this 
is  not  the  abode  of  taste,  it  is  most  certainly  that  of 
comfort,  plenty,  and  no  small  degree  of  intelligence. 
Irene  is  the  pet,  the  beauty,  the  favorite  of  the  house 
hold,  and  all  its  advantages  and  privileges  are  hers. 
But  thoughts  of  another  home  will  frequently  steal 
into  her  mind,  cherished  and  consulted  as  she  is  in  this. 
And  now  let  us  go,  with  all  the  audacity  we  can  as 
sume,  into  the  home  of  Irene's  imagination  —  that 
where  she  shall  queen  over  him  who  loves  to  own  her 
sway,  and  where  she  in  return  gladly  submits  to  one 
whom  she  loves.  Well,  here  we  go,  like  a  nervous 
maiden  under  the  manipulations  of  a  Mesmerist,  and 
here  is  Irene's  own  homestead.  We  are  "away  down 
East,  in  the  State  of  Maine."  Around  us  are  forests 
of  pines,  who  lift  up  their  evergreen  heads  in  silent  and 
constant  worship. 


104          SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

There  is  not  a  house  in  view,  except  Irene's,  but  in 
the  distance  is  a  small  building,  looking,  for  all  the 
world,  like  a  sentry-box,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  one  of 
those  railroad  depots  which  Dickens  describes,  express 
ing  the  wonder  where  the  folks  came  from  who  got  in, 
and  went  to  who  got  out.  If  those  pine  trees  to  the 
left  were  not  quite  so  thick  we  could  see  the  spires  of  a 
village,  but  as  it  is  we  must  be  content  with  Irene's 
domicil.  It  is  painted  as  white  as — as — a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  the  door  is  as  green — as  she  was  when  she 
dreamed  of  it.  There  is  a  little  front  yard,  about  six 
teen  by  twenty,  for  our  country  folks  always  econo 
mize  land  in  front  of  their  dwellings.  It  is  fenced  in 
by  pine  palisades,  painted  white  and  green,  and  put 
together  in  triangles  and  all  sorts  of  diagrams.  The 
gate  is  just  large  enough  to  admit  you,  and  a  Daniel 
Lambert  would  have  to  leap  the  wicket,  or  go  round 
to  the  end  door.  You  walk  into  the  little  path,  and, 
like  a  magnanimous  foe,  you  press  your  clothes  to  your 
sides  that  you  may  not  brush  the  heads  off  the  mari 
golds,  "  lady's  delights,"  and  bachelor's  buttons,  who 
seem  inclined  to  dispute  your  way. 

You  look  up,  and  the  five  windows — two  for  the 
parlor,  two  for  the  parlor-chamber,  and  one  for  the  en 
try  over  the  door — these  five  windows,  with  their  five 
white  curtains,  all  drawn  down  to  the  very  sill,  look 
as  if  they  were  in  their  shrouds.  But  we  will  pluck 
up  courage,  and  ascend  the  pine  doorsteps.  There  is 
no  bell — Irene  never  even  dreamed  of  that ;  and  she 
thinks,  as  her  grandmother  does,  that  knuckles  were 
made  before  knockers,  if  not  for  knockers,  and  here  we 
stand  thumping  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  and  just 


OF    THE   SEA    OF    GENIUS.  105 

as  we  are  about  to  give  up  the  front  entrance,  and,  like 
Banyan's  bad  folks,  get  in  some  other  way,  Irene 
comes  and  opens  to  us,  apologizing  with  all  her  might 
because  the  door  was  locked  and  did  not  open  of  itself; 
and  telling  how  busy  she  has  been  cutting  out  her  hus 
band's  pantaloons,  up  in  the  back  chamber,  for  she 
never  learned  the  trade,  and  is  not  accustomed  to  the 
work.  Her  cheeks  are  as  red.  her  eyes  as  bright,  and 
her  step  as  light  and  true  as  in  the  first  days  of  girl 
hood.  If  it  is  a  warm  day  she  wears  a  pink  calico 
dress,  with  a  white  cape  and  black  silk  apron.  If 
cold,  her  gown  is  of  -green  Circassian''  with  the  same 
appendages;  for,  if  we  are  at  all  reasonable  in  our 
hour,  Irene's  housework  is  all  done  up. 

Well,  here  we  are  in  the  front  entry,  with  the  best 
stairs  right  in  our  face  and  eyes — no,  before  them, 
with  a  little  narrow  strip  of  red  and  green  carpeting  in 
the  middle,  reminding  us  of  the  striped  ribbon  which 
she  puts  straight  over  the  crown  of  her  nicely  kept 
straw  bonnet,  for  its  winter  trimming.  Irene  shows 
us  into  the  parlor,  and  ties  up  the  white  curtains 
with  little  red  woollen  tassels,  and  now  we  can  see 
what  is  evidently  and  nicely  "  kept  for  show. "  — 
There  is  a  strip  carpet  to  examine.  It  is  made  of 
the  best  remnants  of  old  coats,  and  overcoats,  and 
waistcoats,  and  the  dark  groundwork  is  relieved 
by  strips  of  red  and  green  and  yellow  flannel.  That 
bright  scarlet  strip,  which  enlivens  each  stripe,  cannot 
be  mistaken  for  anything  but  the  old  red  broadcloth 
cloak  which  her  great-grandmother  used  to  wear. — 
And  now  for  the  rug  :  it  matches  well  with  the  carpet, 
and  well  it  may,  for  both  are  the  production  of  the 


106  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

same  fair  hand.  It  is  made  of  thrumbs — has  a  dark- 
brown  ground,  a  black  fringe,  and  the  figure  is  a — we 
can't  tell  what — bnt  it  looks  like  a  huge  red  strawberry 
blossom,  for  it  has  five  leaves  with  a  yellow  spot  in 
the  centre.  On  each  side  is  a  monstrous  green  burdock 
leaf,  and  in  the  four  corners  are  four  blue  stars. — 
The  chairs  are  of  wood,  painted  black,  and  highly 
varnished,  with  a  thin  flowering  of  gilt  at  the  top.  In 
the  corner  is  a  rocking-chair,  with  a  cushion  made  of 
odd  bits  of  ribbon,  and  these  are  all  visible  mementoes 
of  Irene's  taste  and  industry.  The  room  is  hung  with 
paper,  which  might  well  pass  for  small-figured  bright- 
colored  calico;  and  over  the  fireplace  is  a  "mourning 
piece,"  representing  a  short  chubby  redcheeked  girl,  in 
a  short  black  gown,  with  a  black  shawl  over  her  head, 
and  holding  in  one  hand  a  large  white  handkerchief 
as  a  symbol  of  grief.  The  other  arm  is  resting  upon  an 
Egyptian  sarcophagus,  on  which  are  inscribed  the  names 
of  all  Irene's  departed  relatives,  and  written  with  the 
schoolmaster's  best  pen.  There  is  no  retirement,  and 
from  a  hundred  windows  in  the  background  intruding 
or  protruding  heads  might  witness  the  pharisaical  grief 
of  the  mourner.  Opposite  this  is  the  mirror,  which  con 
sists  of  a  small  glass,  with  a  picture  above  it  of  a  fine 
lady  and  a  superfine  gentleman,  and  a  magnificent 
house,  both  connected  by  one  frame,  which  consists  of 
alternate  semi-cubes  of  black  and  gilt.  On  another 
side  of  the  room  are  all  the  '•  Presidents  of  these  Uni 
ted  States"  hung  in  a  row,  and  Daniel  Webster  hangs 
with  them,  for  Irene's  husband  thinks  if  he  is  not 
President,  he  ought  to  be.  In  the  fireplace  are  some 
bright  brass  andirons,  covered  with  white  muslin,  and 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  107 

so  are  the  tops  of  the  shovel  and  tongs.  And  on  the 
mantel-shelf  is  a  row  of  those  good  folks  who  rest  in 
the  Egyptian  sarcophagus  —  that  is,  their  "shades," 
which  shades  are  cut  from  white  paper  like  children's 
horses,  and  put  in  relief  against  a  bit  of  black  paste 
board.  These  are  interspersed  with  small  shells  which 
Irene  collected  when  she  rode  to  the  beach  with  her 
beau ;  and  in  the  very  middle  of  the  shelf  is  a  wax 
wonder  with  a  glass  over  it. 

Will  Irene  let  us  go  into  the  kitchen  ?  Yea  ;  for  she 
prideth  herself  much  upon  its  neatness  and  good  man 
agement.  It  is  neatly  papered  and  painted,  has  half- 
curtains  to  the  windows  made  of  the  relics  of  an  Eng 
lish  gingham  gown,  and  is  plentifully  supplied  with 
braided  mats.  Here,  also,  is  the  black  monument  of 
Irene's  only  voluntary  transgression  against  her  fa 
thers  will,  in  the  shape  of  one  of  "James's  patent 
stoves,"  for  there  are  but  three  things  in  the  world  at 
which  the  old  gentleman  has  sworn  enmity,  and  these 
are,  Universal] sts,  Federalists,  and  cooking-stoves. — 
Still  the  old  gentleman  cannot  deny  that  Irene  has  a 
comfortable  room,  notwithstanding  no  pleasant  blaze 
greets  him  from  an  open  hearth. 

At  the  end  of  the  kitchen  is  Irene's  sleeping-room, 
but  so  many  gentlemen  are  with  us  that  we  will  not 
go  in — still  we  cannot  help  seeing  through  the  open 
door  a  cradle,  painted  red  without  and  blue  within, 
with  a  little  patchwork  covering,  made  of  that  piece  of 
"  Job's  troubles"  which  she  never  had  patience  to  en 
large  to  its  originally  destined  dimensions. 

Irene  is  more  than  willing  that  we  should  descend 
into  her  cellar,  and  we  do  not  wonder  after  we  get 


108  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

there.  It  is  so  cool,  so  clean  and  orderly,  (a  thousand 
times  pleasanter  than  the  dungeons  of  the  Montezu- 
mas;)  and  if  it  were  only  a  little  lighter,  we  would 
willingly  spend  the  whole  of  a  summer's  day  in  it. — 
Here  is  a  nice  arch  for  potatoes  and  all  other  freezea- 
ble  commodities,  and  a  score  of  exhausted  flour  bar 
rels,  filled  with  apples,  and  pears,  and  what  not,  and 
there  is  a  beef  barrel  and  a  pork  barrel,  and  a  soap 
barrel,  and  a  quintal  of  codfish,  and  a  tin  cake-chest, 
in  which  is  still  a  large  proportion  of  the  dress  loaf  of 
bridal  cake. 

Now  that  we  have  been  down  stairs,  we  are  not 
contented  without  also  going  up  stairs.  So  we  ascend, 
over  that  same  strip  of  narrow  carpeting,  and  now  we 
are  in  the  upper  entry.  The  most  conspicuous  thing 
here  is  the  fancy  curtain  hung  at  the  window — made 
of  the  sprigged  muslin  dress  in  which  her  mother  was 
married,  and  it  is  gathered  and  fringed  and  looped  in 
all  manner  of  fantastic  directions.  In  the  front  cham 
ber  is — all  that  is  necessary.  Here  is  a  white  toilette, 
with  a  pink  cushion  upon  it,  and  there  is  a  mat  before 
it,  made  of  black  cloth  figured  over  with  little  pieces 
of  all  sorts  of  things,  looking  like  a  mob  of  Arabic, 
Sanscrit,  and  Chinese  characters  mingled  together  in 
confusion  worse  confounded.  And  here  is  the  nice 
soft  feather-bed  which  Irene  had  earned  at  sixteen,  and 
which  was  then  sewed  up  in  a  pair  of  strong  sheets 
that  it  might  be  kept  unsoiled  for  this  place  and  occa 
sion. 

And  Irene  blushes  when  we  open  the  door  where 
she  is  making  her  first  attempt  to  become  "the  ninth 
part  of  a  man/'  but  we  think,  as  we  look  at  the  things 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  109 

which  lie  there,  that  it  is  not  so  bad  for  a  wife  to 
make  them  as  to  wear  them. 

And  now  we  must  go ;  but  Irene  must  show  her 
flowers.  Her  rose  geranium  in  a  great  blue  waterpail, 
and  her  bridal  rose  in  a  cracked  beanpot,  and  her  cal 
low  in  a  broken  pitcher,  and  this  great  thing  she  says 
is  her  "  chrystianthum."  Divers  little  applicants  for  a 
kind  look  and  word  lift  up  their  green  heads  from 
tumblers  and  mugs,  but  we  must  go.  As  we  pass  out, 
Irene  calls  our  attention  to  the  great  lilac,  and  the  rose- 
tree,  and  the  mammoth  peony  which  suffered  so  in  the 
last  thunder-storm,  and  we  must  not  forget  the  sun 
flowers,  and  the  prince's  feathers,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  tansy  in  the  corners  of  the  yard,  with  its  neighbors 
of  catnip,  spearmint,  peppermint,  and  a  dozen  other 
mints. 

And  which  of  Irene's  beaux  do  we  suppose  her 
bright  dreams  metamorphosed  into  a  husband  ?  Let 
us  take  the  same  liberty  with  her  heart  that  we  have 
with  her  house,  and  see  in  Memory's  gallery  what 
portraits  Fancy  painted  there.  Although  Irene  has 
been  a  rustic  belle,  yet  we  shall  have  time  to  go 
through  with  the  list  of  her  lovers,  for  they  are  never 
"  Legion  "  in  the  breast  of  any  true-hearted  woman. 

The  first  is  that  awkward  ungainly  boy,  with  limbs 
like  a  long-armed  ape,  and  a  face  which  has  a  mam 
moth  handle.  The  sallow,  sunken  cheek  and  thin 
compressed  lips  indicate  thought  and  determination, 
but  present  no  fascinations  to  a  young,  light-hearted  girl. 
The  high,  projecting  brow  is  the  only  feature  which 
has  claims  to  beauty,  for  the  bright  eye  is  sunken  in 
his  head,  and  oft  cast  down  to  the  ground.  He  is 
10 


110  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

usually  silent  and  reserved,  but  the  beauty  of  Irene 
has  wrought  a  magic  spell  upon  him,  and  one  day,  as 
she  opens  her  grammar  in  the  first  school  hour,  she 
finds  a  poetical  effusion,  commencing  — 

"  In  thine  eye  is  beauty  bright, 
Revellings  of  magic  light," 

and  so  on  through  twelve  lines,  which  not  only  have 
the  merit  of  rhyming  harmoniously,  but  the  initials  of 
them  compose  an  acrostic  upon  her  own  true  name. 
Irene  looks  at  it  again  and  again,  and  at  the  name  in 
scribed  in  full  length  at  the  bottom,  for  there  are  none 
less  sly  than  your  really  bashful  boys  when  they  have 
once  screwed  their  courage  to  the  acting  point.  The 
verses  have  all  the  appliances  of  fair  paper,  beautiful 
chirography,  and,  though  Irene  is  not  much  of  a  critic, 
she  knows  that  orthography  and  punctuation  are  well 
attended  to.  A  shy  feeling,  like  the  curlings  of  a  gen 
tle  mist,  steals  over  the  heart  of  Irene,  and  she  looks 
upon  the  paper  as  a  magic  scroll.  In  her  presence  the 
awkward  boy  becomes  still  more  ungainly;  he  blushes 
if  she  smiles  upon  him,  and  his  brow  lowers  if  she 
smiles  upon  another.  She  finds  it  more  of  an  effort  to 
be  merry  when  he  is  by,  and  wishes  she  could  feel 
as  much  at  ease  with  him  as  with  handsome  Bill  P., 
or  gallant  Jim  S.,  or  witty  Tom  K. 

The  boys  all  like  Irene;  they  are  all  willing  to 
wait  upon  her  to  huskings,  and  see  her  safe  home  from 
spelling-schools  —  all  but  the  awkward  boy.  She 
might  stay  at  home  all  her  life  for  want  of  his  invita 
tions,  and  the  bears  might  catch  her  any  dark  night 
spite  of  his  assistance.  Still  that  subtle  freemasonry. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  Ill 

which  makes  lovers  known  to  each  other,  tells  Irene 
that  he  loves  her  far  better  than  do  Tom,  or  Jim,  or 
Bill,  and  she  knows  that  thus  far  she  loves  him  better 
than  them.  But  then  all  the  girls  laugh  at  him,  and 
the  boys  say  he  is  a  noddy,  and  he  cannot  run,  nor 
dance,  nor  skate,  nor  play  ball,  nor  do  any  thing  so 
well  as  they,  if  indeed  he  can  do  them  at  all ;  but  then 
he  can  parse,  and  do  sums  as  well  as  the  master,  and 
write  acrostics,  which  even  the  master  cannot  do,  and 
Irene  is  fully  aware  of  his  intellectual  superiority.  But 
head  and  heart  are  not  all  the  requisites  for  winning 
the  sum  total  of  a  young  girl's  love,  and  after  a  few 
seasons  of  wavering  between  hope  and  fear,  the  awk 
ward  boy  is  resolved  to  end  his  suspense  by  a  positive 
declaration  to  Irene,  and  he  is  refused.  She  has  too 
little  love,  or  independence,  or  both,  and  when  she  has 
cast  away  the  truest  heart  that  ever  beat  for  her,  she 
is  aware  of  its  value.  Henceforth  the  boy's  heart  is 
steeled  against  the  tender  passion — all  women  are  self 
ish,  heartless  flirts  and  fools.  He  devotes  himself  to 
his  books,  and  as  time  passes  on,  his  name  is  enrolled 
among  the  distinguished  of  his  country,  and  Irene  could 
boast  that  she  once  refused  the  learned  man. 

But  these  things  usually  bring  a  meet  retaliation. 
Irene  does  not  find  that  she  is  regarded  with  any 
marked  preference  by  the  beaux  who  once  admired  her, 
and  her  own  experience  is  too  recent  to  allow  of  a  sec 
ond  entrance  to  her  heart.  She  becomes  choice  and 
fastidious,  and  is  called  proud  and  unfeeling. 

At  length  a  new  minister  comes  to  the  place,  a  young, 
graceful  and  interesting  man.  Irene's  beauty,  anima 
tion,  and  indifference  to  the  beaux,  attracts  his  atten- 


112  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

tion.  If  he  exhibits  any  preference,  it  is  for  her.  His 
attentions  are  only  those  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  but 
Irene  receives  them  with  a  demureness  which  implies 
a  fear  of  an  affection  of  the  heart.  She  admires  the 
pastor,  but  then  she  thinks  she  is  not  accomplished  and 
religious  enough  to  suit  him  exactly ;  and  when  the 
impression  of  her  beauty  has  passed  away,  he  will  see 
it  too,  and  it  would  be  better  that  she  should  know  it 
first.  She  congratulates  herself  upon  her  coyness  when 
the  minister  brings  his  new  bride  to  the  parish,  a  very 
learned  lady,  to  whom  he  has  been  engaged  many 
years ;  one  who,  it  is  rumored,  reads  in  Latin,  and 
talks  in  Latin,  and,  it  is  supposed,  thinks  in  Latin,  and 
Irene  shrewdly  guesses  that  she  will  keep  house  in 
Latin  too. 

Again  time  passes  on,  and  Irene  is  not  married.  At 
length  a  railroad  is  to  be  surveyed ;  and  what  fine  city 
gentlemen  come  down  into  the  woods  to  lay  it  out. 
There  is  one  among  them  a  perfect  Apollo  in  figure,  an 
Adonis  in  attractions,  and  a  Beau  Brummel  in  manner 
and  dress  —  at  least,  so  he  appears  to  Irene.  He  wears 
such  nice  gloves,  such  polished  boots,  such  a  gold  chain, 
such  superfine  broadcloth ;  and  then  his  shaggy  great 
coat  is  only  to  be  matched  by  his  whiskers,  and 
then  his  dogskin  cap,  with  tassels  hanging  down  —  oh, 
who  can  tell  how  many  hearts  are  hanging  at  the  end 
of  them.  With  the  most  graceful  manners  his  particu 
lar  attentions  are  devoted  to  Irene,  and  Rumor  soon 
reports  that  he  is  "courting  "  the  rustic  beauty.  Irene 
pouts  prettily,  and  denies  it,  for  the  elegant  surveyor 
has  never  "  committed  himself '"  in  words,  but  when 
a  woman  fully  trusts  she  is  willing  to  exchange  hearts 


OF    THE  SEA    OF    GENIUS.  113 

without  the  word  and  the  bond.  Those  are  for  matches 
where  love  is  not  at  the  foundation  of  the  union  —  for 
the  worldly,  calculating  and  suspicious.  And,  if  peo 
ple  suspect  that  he  is  courting  her  from  his  open  atten 
tions,  what  would  they  think  if  they  knew  of  all  the 
secret,  subtle  influences  by  which  he  has  impressed  her 
with  the  belief.  Then  the  envious  girls  begin  to  won 
der  that  Irene  will  place  so  much  confidence  in  a  stran 
ger,  and  demure,  prudish  old  ladies  give  her  their 
excellent  advice,  and  this  brings  out  Irene  as  the 
earnest  public  advocate  of  the  stranger.  If  doubts  will 
sometimes  steal  across  her  own  mind,  they  only  serve 
to  impress  his  image  more  intensely  on  her  heart,  and 
she  still  goes  on  ''in  the  full  confidence  of  faith  un 
spoken."  But  the  surveying  is  over — the  gentlemen 
depart.  Irene  is  tendered  a  beautiful  annual  in  the 
most  gracious  manner  by  her  attentive  friend,  which 
she  refuses  sulkily,  with  the  sarcastic  assurance  that 
she  needs  no  memento  of  him ;  and  then  he  goes  to 
some  other  village,  to  amuse  himself  with  some  other 
"ladie  fair,"  and  go  headfirst,  that  is,  capfirst,  into  the 
sanctuary  of  her  affections. 

But  a  change  has  now  come  over  the  spirit  of  Irene. 
She  mourns;  not  for  the  lover,  but  "  for  the  love  which 
has  passed  like  the  dew  from  the  new-blown  rose," 
and  she  feels  conscious  that  few  hearts  mourn  with' 
her  for  her  folly.  The  girls  are  glad,  and  the  beaux  not 
sorry,  and  poor  Irene  tries  hard  to  hold  up  her  head 
beneath  the  mortification  which  weighs  it  down.  She 
is  glad  to  embrace  an  opportunity  which  offers  to  leave 
home,  and  go  to  the  factory,  for  she  cares  not  whether 
she  ever  sees  a  half-a-dozen  men  again  or  not.  But 
10* 


114  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

the  young  and  healthy  cannot  always  droop.  She  re 
covers  in  a  new  place  her  spirits,  her  sprightliness  and 
buoyancy,  and  none  is  so  much  admired  for  animation, 
beauty  and  energy  as  Irene.  She  would  be  a  belle,  but 
there  are  no  beaux.  The  first  overseer  is  a  married 
man,  the  second  one  engaged,  and  the  third  but  a  boy. 
It  is  said  that  prisoners,  who  have  nothing  else  to  inter 
est  their  feelings,  will  learn  to  love  the  spiders  which 
spin  cobwebs  in  their  cells.  And  superior  girls,  when 
debarred  all  other  society,  will  sometimes  place  their 
affections  upon  clowns  and  ninnies. 

Irene  almost  gets  in  love  with  the  third  hand,  and 
he  is  somewhat  fascinated  with  her,  but  he  finally  gives 
her  the  cold  shoulder,  and  returns  to  a  pretty  little  girl 
who  is  his  first  love.  Irene  treats  it  all  as  a  gay  joke, 
for  her  heart  was  not  really  in  the  affair.  She  has  some 
designs  of  supplanting  the  favorite  of  the  second-hand, 
but  when  she  really  seest  hat  her  sly  coquetry  is  taking 
effect,  and  that  she  may  be  successful,  honorable  and 
praiseworthy  motives  induce  her  to  undo  what  she  has 
already  done.  But  a  mill  life  seems  inane  and  tedious 
to  her ;  she  does  not  wish  to  return  home,  and  is  it 
strange  that  she  embraced  the  opportunity  which 
offered,  when  they  were  recruiting  for  emigrant  factory 
girls,  of  changing  Yankee-land  for  Mexico  ? 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  115 


WOMAN. 

WOMAN'S  Mission.  Woman's  Sphere,  Woman's  Rights, 
Woman  as  she  should  be — and  many  similar  phrases, 
are  titles  of  books  which  have  within  a  few  years  is 
sued  from  the  press.  I  have  read  none  of  them  ;  for  I 
am  one  of  those  who  have  more  time  for  reflection, 
than  for  the  perusal  of  books ;  but  the  feeling  which 
has  prompted  so  many  of  our  own,  and  of  the  other 
sex,  to  write  and  speak  of  woman's  duty  and  influ 
ence,  cannot  but  be  shared  by  all  of  us  who  have 
heads  to  think,  and  hearts  to  feel. 

It  cannot  be  thought  strange,  that  in  this  country, 
where  the  rights  of  man  are  so  vehemently  asserted, 
those  of  woman  should  also  receive  some  attention; 
and  that  the  questions  should  arise,  whether  her  mis 
sion  is  duly  performed  —  her  sphere  the  only  one  for 
which  she  is  fitted — her  rights  appreciated  —  and 
whether  she  is  indeed  "  as  she  should  be."  Man  is 
every  where  lord  of  creation :  here,  he  is  lord  also  of 
himself:  and  while  he  now  takes  a  higher  stand  than 
he  has  ever  claimed  before,  woman  has  not  risen  in  a 
corresponding  degree.  Here,  every  man  may  share  in 
the  government  of  his  country  ;  but  woman  is  here,  as 
elsewhere,  the  governed ;  and  if  her  natural  rights  and 
duties  are  the  same  as  his,  she  is  also  the  oppressed. 
She  has  here  no  privilege  which  she  might  not  enjoy 
under  the  enlightened  monarch  s  of  Europe,  and  no 
distinction  but  that  of  being  the  mothers  and  daughters, 
the  wives  and  sisters,  of  freemen.  Several  kingdoms 


116  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

are  now  governed  by  females ;  and  probably  as  well 
governed  as  they  would  be  by  those  of  the  other  sex  ; 
and  thus  it  is  evident,  that  woman  is  capable  of  being 
trained  to  reason,  and  to  rule :  but  it  is  an  important 
query,  whether  this  is  her  most  appropriate  and  con 
genial  sphere  ? 

Mrs.  Sigourney  has  most  beautifully  expressed  an 
opinion,  which  I  believe  to  be  true.  I  repeat  not  her 
words  —  but  her  sentiment  is  this  ;  —  that  while  the 
sexes  might  exchange  occupations  —  while  man  might 
be  taught  to  steal  around  the  chamber  of  the  sick,  and 
perform  the  quiet  duties  of  domestic  life,  woman  might 
also  be  taught  to  sway  the  senate,  and  lead  her  coun 
try's  armies  to  battle ;  but  violence  would  be  done  to 
the  nature  of  each.  Yes,  man  might  be  taught  to  bend 
his  energies  to  the  still  duties  of  household  life ;  but 
his  spirit  would  pant  for  a  wider  sphere,  and  his  mind 
would  writhe  and  chafe  beneath  its  shackles ;  and 
woman  might  engage  in  noise  and  strife,  but  the  over 
tasked  heart  would  yearn  for  a  humbler  lot,  and  pre 
maturely  exhaust  itself  in  the  violence  of  self-contest. 

The  Bible,  and  every  ancient  tradition,  has  awarded 
to  man  the  honor  of  being  first  created ;  but  a  compan 
ion  and  help-meet  was  needed ;  and  as  he  had  been 
gifted  with  an  immortal  mind,  so  none  but  a  being  des 
tined  to  share  with  him  a  glorious  immortality,  could 
call  out  his  affections,  and  share  his  sympathies.  In 
those  feelings  and  moral  sentiments,  the  exercise  of 
which  is  to  constitute  his  future  happiness,  she  is  fully 
his  equal  —  apparently  his  superior;  for  in  her  they 
exist  uncontrolled  by  those  selfish  and  intellectual 
qualities  which  fit  him  to  go  forward  in  this  earthly 


OF   THE   SEA   OF   GENIUS.  117 

existence.  But  if  there  be  no  difference  of  mind, 
there  is  a  difference  of  body  which  must  compel  her  to 
yield  to  him  the  palm  of  superiority.  He  is  made 
more  strong,  that  he  may  protect  and  defend;  she 
more  lovely,  that  he  may  be  willing  to  shield  and 
guard  her  ;  and  that  physical  difference  which,  in  one 
state  of  society,  makes  woman  the  slave  of  man,  in 
another  makes  him  her  worshipper. 

Woman  has  always  been  obliged  to  take  that  station 
in  life  which  man  has  been  pleased  to  allot  her. 
Among  savage  nations,  where  those  faculties  of  mind 
in  which  she  equals  him  have  little  exercise  in  either 
sex,  she  is  but  little  more  than  a  beast  of  burden ;  but 
in  those  stages  of  society  where  refinement,  and  the 
love  of  the  beautiful,  were  predominant,  she  has  been 
the  object  of  chivalrous  adoration.  She  has  been  knelt 
to,  and  worshipped,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  gal 
lantry  ;  but  the  same  hand  which  raised  her  to  the 
throne,  had  power  to  overturn  it,  and  while  she  sat 
upon  it,  it  was  at  his  caprice. 

It  has  been  truly  said,  that  Christianity  alone  has 
truly  elevated  woman.  And  how  has  it  done  it  ?  Not 
by  infusing  any  new  power  into  man's  mind;  but  by 
awakening  in  him  the  love  of  the  true,  the  good  and 
the  just ;  by  making  him  sensible  of  the  superiority  of 
right  over  might ;  by  arousing  those  holier  sympathies 
and  desires  in  which  he  feels  that  woman  is  not  indeed 
his  inferior ;  and  should  the  time  come  when  earth  is 
to  bear  some  resemblance  of  heaven,  woman's  influ 
ence  will  be  found  to  mingle  equally  with  man's,  in 
hastening  on  the  era  of  happiness  and  love. 

But  though  in  many  respects  his  equal,  she  will 


118  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

never  be  like  him.  Her  duties  and  pleasures  must 
always  be  different.  Were  the  sexes  willing  to  exchange 
places,  they  could  not  do  it ;  and  each  has  been  so 
formed,  as  to  enjoy  most  in  a  separate  sphere.  She 
can  never  obtain  his  strength  and  vigor,  and  some  of 
her  duties  he  could  not  perform,  if  he  wished.  Woman 
must  be  the  mother,  and  that  fount  of  "deep,  strong, 
deathless  love,"  has  been  implanted  in  her  breast, 
which  can  turn  a  mother's  cares  to  pleasures.  In  that 
station  where  woman  is  most  herself,  where  her  pre 
dominating  qualities  have  the  fullest  scope,  there  she 
is  most  influential,  and  most  truly  worthy  of  respect. 
But  when  she  steps  from  her  allotted  path  into  that  of 
the  other  sex,  she  betrays  her  inferiority,  and  in  a 
struggle  would  inevitably  be  subdued. 

It  is  now  asserted,  by  some,  that  woman  should  here 
share  in  the  toils,  duties  and  honors  of  government ; 
that  it  is  her  right ;  and  that  it  is  contrary  to  the  first 
principles  of  our  constitution  to  deprive  her  of  this 
privilege. 

That  woman,  if  not  now  capable  of  doing  this, 
might  be  rendered  so  by  education,  cannot  be  doubted; 
and  should  our  sex  rise  en  masse,  and  claim  the  right, 
I  see  not  how  it  could  be  denied.  But  this  will  never 
be.  To  be  happy,  and  to  contribute  to  the  happiness 
of  others,  is  woman's  aim  ;  and  neither  of  these  objects 
would  be  attained  by  engaging  in  party  politics.  The 
general  principles  of  government,  and  the  welfare  of 
her  country,  should  always  be  subjects  of  interest  to 
her.  They  may  occupy  part  of  her  thoughts  and  con 
versation;  but  to  become  a  voter,  would  be  contrary 
to  the  feelings  which  she  ought  principally  to  cherish, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  119 

and  the  duties  she  should  never  neglect  —  those  of 
home. 

Man,  says  Lady  M.  W.  Montague,  by  engrossing  to 
himself  the  honors  of  government,  "has  saved  us  from 
many  cares,  from  many  dangers,  and  perhaps  from 
many  crimes."  Let  woman,  with  her  warm  sympa 
thies,  engage  in  the  political  wrangle,  and  the  strife 
will  not  be  less  bitter.  If  she  go  at  all  upon  the  battle 
field,  it  should  be  "as  (to  use  an  expression  of  William 
Penn's)  the  physician  goes  among  the  sick  —  not  to 
catch  the  disease,  but  to  cure  it."  But  to  do  this  she 
must  go,  not  as  a  partizan,  but  as  a  mediator.  She 
should  endeavor  to  speak  words  which  would  allay 
the  wrath  of  the  combatants,  and  to  say  to  all  who 
will  listen,  "Sirs,  ye  are  brethren."  She  must  stand 
on  neutral  ground,  with  the  white  flag  in  her  hand ; 
for  if  she  show  herself  upon  either  side,  she  may  be 
come  the  victim  of  her  own  violent  feelings,  if  not  the 
slave  of  the  perfidious  and  designing  of  the  other  sex. 

Women  once  madly  and  unrestrainedly  engaged  in 
political  strife ;  and  while  some,  with  the  most  ardent 
patriotism,  preserved  their  purity  and  tenderness,  others 
became  the  "  Furies  of  the  Guillotine."  Even  then, 
though  nominally  as  free  as  the  other  sex,  the  stronger 
spirit  ruled.  They  were  urged  on  for  a  time,  and 
when  that  time  was  over,  they  were  obliged  to  yield  a 
power  which  they  could  not  maintain,  and  which  the 
other  sex  wished  to  resume. 

But  though  woman  may  not  personally  approach 
the  ballot  box,  or  mingle  in  the  caucus,  yet  she  can 
there  be  represented.  Men  consider  their  interests  as 
identified  with  those  of  their  families.  They  do  not 


120  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

vote  for  themselves  alone,  but  for  their  mothers,  wives, 
and  daughters.  Females  who  think  at  all  upon  poli 
tics,  usually  think  as  the  males  of  their  families  do ; 
their  sympathies  lead  them  to  adopt  the  opinions  of 
those  they  love  best,  and  the  result  of  elections  would 
probably  be  the  same  if  they  were  voters.  But  if 
they  are  not  always  represented  —  if  their  opinions  do 
sometimes  differ  from  those  of  their  male  relatives,  it 
is  well  that  this  difference  cannot  create  more  trouble. 
It  is  well  that  the  bickerings  and  contentions  of  the 
club-room  and  tavern-house,  are  not  to  be  brought  into 
the  family  circle.  It  is  well  that  the  sounds  of  "home, 
sweet  home,"  are  not  to  be  displaced  by  bitter  words 
and  party  disputations.  Differences  of  religious  opinion 
create  enough  of  discord  and  misery  in  family  circles ; 
but  religion,  though  mingled  with  superstition,  and 
darkened  by  bigotry,  is  religion  still.  It  is  the  exer 
cise  of  the  heart's  best  affections,  and  no  persons  can 
embitter  the  fire-side  with  religious  quarrels,  and  con 
ceive  themselves  following  in  sincerity  the  example  of 
Him  whose  mission  was  peace  and  love.  Political 
feuds  would  not  have  as  a  counteracting  influence  this 
glaring  inconsistency  of  principles  and  practice ;  and 
may  we  never  take  a  more  active  part  in  them. 

Let  woman  keep  in  her  own  sphere,  and  she  can  do 
much  for  herself,  and  much  for  society ;  but  her  influ 
ence  is  weakened  in  proportion  as  she  deviates  from 
the  true  path.  Her  domestic  duties  should  claim  her 
first  thoughts ;  and  then  society  should  receive  her  un 
wearied  efforts  to  elevate,  to  gladden,  and  to  beautify. 
If  social  evils  are  to  be  remedied  by  reforming  public 
opinion,  woman's  influence,  when  properly  exerted, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  121 

may  do  much  ;  and  thus  they  will  be  remedied,  if  she 
is  true  to  the  nature  God  has  given  her,  and  the  station 
he  has  assigned  her.  She  may  do  this  by  her  influ 
ence  over  the  rising  generation,  especially  that  portion 
of  it  who  will  one  day  be  voters,  and  perhaps  rulers  of 
their  country.  Her  exertions  should  be  to  throw 
around  her  the  sunshine  of  gentleness  and  affection, 
and  her  aim  should  be 

"To  solace,  to  soften,  to  cheer,  and  to  bless, 
With  the  streams  of  her  gushing  tenderness." 

But  many  who  think  that  woman  should  never  in 
terfere  in  political  affairs,  assert  that  in  religious  and 
benevolent  enterprises  she  should  act  publicly  and  un 
restrained.  If  woman  had  been  intended  to  grace  the 
pulpit  or  the  lecturer's  desk,  I  think  she  would  have 
been  gifted  with  a  voice  more  suitable  for  them,  and 
been  endowed  with  less  of  that  delicacy  which  she 
must  now  struggle  to  overcome.  Women  have  ha 
rangued  public  audiences,  who  are  to  be  respected  for 
their  faithfulness  to  the  dictates  of  conscience;  but 
while  my  ideas  of  female  duty  differ  so  widely  from 
theirs,  I  cannot  admire  them,  and  would  not  imitate 
them,  if  I  could. 

If  a  woman  is  sensible  that  she  has  talents  which 
might  be  of  service  to  her  country,  let  her  exercise 
them ;  but  in  a  quiet  way.  Madame  Roland  says, 
that  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  chamber  were  written 
documents  which  entered  into  all  the  cabinets  of  Eu 
rope  ;  and  far  more  influence  had  those  opinions,  while 
passing  under  the  sanction  of  her  husband's  name,  and 
far  more  noble  does  Madame  Roland  appear,  than  if 
11 


122  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

she  had  entered  the  National  Assembly,  and  expressed 
them  vocally. 

There  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,  and  there  may  be 
times  when  woman  will  do  what  man  could  not  per 
form.  She  may  depart  from  her  appropriate  sphere, 
and  the  very  novelty  of  her  position  will  create  enthu 
siasm  in  her  behalf;  and  the  fervency  of  her  feelings 
will  excite  her  on,  to  deeds  requiring  the  utmost  moral 
energy.  Yet  happy  is  she,  if  the  thunderbolts  she 
launches  around,  return  not  upon  her  own  head.  Wit 
ness,  for  example,  Joanne  of  Arc. 

Many  who  think  woman  inferior  in  every  other 
mental  capacity,  maintain  that  in  literary  talent  she  is 
man's  equal.  She  may  be,  in  some  respects,  and  in 
others  his  inferior  ;  but  in  those  departments  of  litera 
ture,  which  have  usually  been  considered  highest,  she 
appears  to  be  his  inferior.  We  cannot  well  judge 
from  what  woman  has  done,  what  she  is  capable  of 
doing.  Under  happier  auspices,  much  might  have 
been  performed  of  which  she  has  been  deemed  incapa 
ble  ;  still  I  do  not  think  that  if  the  literary  arena  had 
been  always  as  open  as  it  now  is,  that  woman  would  ever 
have  written  an  Iliad,  or  a  Paradise  Lost.  When  an 
anonymous  work  appeared,  called  "  Sartor  Resartus," 
which  evinced  much  originality  and  talent,  there  were 
many  conjectures  concerning  the  authorship ;  but  it 
was  never  suspected  to  be  the  production  of  a  woman ; 
and  had  the  sweet  "  Songs  of  the  affections "  come 
forth  into  the  world  unsanctioned  by  the  name  of  He- 
mans,  they  would  never  have  been  attributed  to  a 
man. 

Women  who  now  write  upon  subjects  which  have 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  123 

heretofore  been  the  exclusive  subjects  of  man's  talents, 
do  it  usually  in  a  more  familiar,  and  sometimes  in  a 
more  beautiful  manner.  As,  for  instance,  Miss  Marti- 
neau  upon  Political  Economy ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott 
declares,  that  it  was  Miss  Edgeworth  who  taught  him 
to  write  novels. 

But  how  great  the  difference  between  the  sexes,  with 
regard  to  literary  talent,  can  be  better  decided  at  some 
future  time.  It  cannot,  at  all  events,  be  said  of  a 
woman,  that  in  this  respect  "  she  hath  done  what  she 
could." 

Those  females  who  have  been  blessed  with  beauty 
of  form  and  face,  need  not  fear  that  their  graces  will 
be  lessened  by  mental  cultivation.  The  natural  desire 
in  our  sex  to  please  the  other,  has  often  led  them  to 
adorn  their  persons  at  the  expense  of  their  minds ;  and 
if  they  have  succeeded,  they  must  have  pleased  men 
who  were  not  worth  pleasing. 

Much  of  the  prejudice  which  even  now  exists  against 
educated  females,  has  probably  been  caused  by  the 
fact,  that  too  many  literary  women  have  been  pedantic, 
assuming,  and  arrogant.  They  have  laid  aside  the 
graces  of  their  own  sex,  without  attaining  the  vigor  of 
the  other ;  but  they  cannot  become  men  —  let  them 
therefore  not  cease  to  be  women.  They  should  cherish 
those  feelings,  and  virtues,  which  alone  can  render 
them  pleasing,  and  cultivate  those  faculties  which  will 
command  respect. 

Yes,  woman  can  climb  the  Hill  of  Science,  and  let 
her  go ;  let  her  bind  the  laurel  and  the  myrtle  with  the 
roses  which  already  bloom  around  her  brow,  and  the 
wreath  will  be  more  beautiful ;  but  she  should  guard 


124  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

well  the  flowers,   lest  the  evergreens  crush  or  over 
shadow  them,  and  they  wither  away,  and  die. 


ARISTOCRACY  OF  EMPLOYMENT. 

As  I  was  walking  a  few  days  since  through  one  of 
our  principal  streets,  my  attention  was  attracted  by 
the  size  and  beauty  of  some  of  its  principal  edifices. 
Within  a  short  distance  were  several  spacious  houses 
for  public  worship,  and  taste  and  wealth  had  been  dis 
played  in  the  erection  of  buildings  of  a  more  private 
character.  And  then  I  thought  of  the  vast  amount  of 
labor  which  had  been  employed  in  the  construction  of 
that  single  street.  How  much  of  human  strength  had 
there  been  worn  away,  how  many  sinews  there  been 
strained  to  the  utmost  exertion,  and  arms  been  almost 
palsied  by  excess  of  toil. 

Yet  this  was  but  one  of  the  streets  in  our  city,  and 
this  city  but  one  of  the  smaller  ones  in  our  Union. 

I  thought  of  this,  and  I  thought  no  longer  of  the 
beauty,  taste,  or  wealth  which  had  been  manifested, 
but  of  the  labor. 

"  The  law  of  labor ! "  O  how  prolific  a  theme  of 
thought,  and  how  many  the  reflections  to  which  it 
probably  gives  rise  in  the  minds  of  those  incapable  of 
expressing  their  thoughts  through  the  medium  of  the 
pen. 

The  laborer  —  and  who  is  he?     A  man,    made  a 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  125 

little  lower  than  the  angels,  and  stamped  with  the 
impress  of  his  heavenly  Father  ;  a  man  and  brother  to 
him  who  will  not  soil,  with  slightest  manual  employ 
ment,  his  snowy  hand,  or  costly  vestment;  a  man,  and 
though  too  often  degraded  to  a  station  but  little  above 
the  brute,  yet  may  be,  in  some  future  time,  the  com 
panion  of  angels. 

The  laborer  —  and  where  is  he  ?  Wherever  the 
beauteous  mansion  of  the  rich  man  greets  the  admir 
ing  gaze  of  passing  travellers ;  wherever  the  splendid 
temple's  lofty  dome  is  reared,  and  its  tapering  spire 
springs  upward  to  the  sky ;  wherever  the  giant  mill- 
wheel  groans  on  its  axle,  and  myriads  of  wheels,  and 
springs,  and  bands  revolve  in  their  lesser  circles,  there 
has  the  laborer  been.  Wherever  the  amateur  displays 
his  costly  collection  of  beauties,  or  the  virtuoso  the 
curious  productions  of  gifted  ones  in  other  lands ; 
wherever  the  artist  displays  the  inspired  creations  of 
the  pencil  or  the  chisel ;  or  the  poet's  strains  subdue 
by  pathos  or  excite  to  rapturous  enthusiasm  —  there 
again,  yes,  even  there,  amidst  that  thrilling  beauty, 
has  the  laborer  been.  Wherever  some  lovely  paradise, 
some  modern  Garden  of  Eden,  with  its  labyrinthine 
walks,  its  jutting  founts,  its  rare  exotics,  its  sweet  per 
fumes,  and  costly  flowers,  are  to  be  seen,  there  also, 
amidst  that  choicest  haunt  of  the  lover  of  refined 
amusements,  has  the  dirt-soiled  laborer  been.  Wherever 
the  organ's  "loud-resounding  notes"  swell  upward 
from  the  worshipping  choir,  or  the  flute's  soft  tones 
steal  gently  on  the  evening  breeze,  or  the  harp-strings 
vibrate  beneath  the  touch  of  the  favored  child  of  For 
tune,  there  also  is  the  handiwork  of  the  laborer.  Not 
11* 


126  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

more  surely  is  his  presence  indicated  by  the  humble 
cot  which  shelters  his  head  from  the  cold  and  the 
storm,  or  the  rude  couch  on  which  he  rests  his  weary 
limbs,  than  by  the  fretted  dome  of  the  vast  cathedral, 
or  the  gorgeous  splendor  of  the  palace. 

We  cannot  go  where  man  has  created  beauty,  splen 
dor,  or  convenience,  but  we  also  find  the  tokens  of  toil. 
There  is  around  us  proof  upon  proof  in  attestation  of 
that  sentence  pronounced  upon  man;  "In  the  sweat 
of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread." 

Yet  men  strive  to  evade  this  law ;  they  put  shackles 
on  their  brother ;  they  place  over  him  the  task-master, 
then  fold  their  arms  and  say,  "  There  must  be  toil,  and 
thou  shalt  be  the  laborer.  My  share  and  thine  shall 
both  be  done  by  thee,  and  I  will  give  thee  bread,  that 
life  may  not  perish  in  thy  sordid  frame :  and  clothing, 
that  thy  limbs  may  not  be  shrunk  by  the  cold,  or 
parched  by  the  heat :  and  peradventure  I  will  give  thee 
meat  that  thy  strength  may  continue  the  longer  ;  and 
thou  mayest  have  some  mean  hut,  that  thou  mayest 
rear  a  grovelling  band  to  toil  for  my  oifspring,  as  thou 
shalt  toil  for  me."  And  when  the  laborer  says,  "  Who 
made  thee  a  ruler  over  me?"  Egyptian-like,  he  smites 
him  to  the  earth. 

Yes,  has  it  not  been  too  often  thus  —  the  laborer, 
like  one  who  struggles  in  some  troubled  sea,  while  he 
for  whom  each  nerve  is  strained  stands  idly  on  the 
shore;  and  when  he  would  leap  from  those  dark 
waters,  a  blow  is  given  to  send  him  back,  and  the 
smiter  smiles  at  his  own  mercy,  because  he  did  not 
dash  his  brains. 

Such  has  been,  in  other  times  and  distant  places, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  127 

the  operation  of  this  universal  law ;  I  say  universal, 
for  everywhere  that  man  has  shown  himself  a  being 
of  high  endowments,  of  superior  skill,  power,  and 
sagacity,  it  has  been  by  labor ;  yes,  wherever  man  has 
been  himself  a  creature  above  the  brutes  around  him, 
and  aspiring  to  a  higher  dwelling-place  than  the  earth 
which  is  their  home,  it  is  because  he  has  been  there 
the  laborer. 

Employment  is  the  lot  awaiting  us  all,  as  we  come 
forth  into  this  busy  world.  The  earth  is  to  be  tilled ; 
cities,  towns  and  villages  to  be  built ;  strong  ships  are 
to  be  made,  and  guided  across  the  deep  sea ;  there 
must  be  a  ceaseless  preparation  of  food  and  clothing 
for  the  unceasing  demand  for  them ;  there  is  ever  a 
new  generation  springing  up  to  be  nurtured,  and 
taught,  and  watched,  and  an  old  one  to  be  nursed,  and 
sheltered,  and  cared  for,  till  they  are  laid  in  the  house 
appointed  for  all — and  the  living  must  make  that  last 
tenement;  all  this  is  to  be  done,  and  to  be  always 
doing,  and  man  must  be  the  laborer. 

There  must  be  ministers,  also,  to  the  desire  for  the 
grand,  the  holy,  arid  the  beautiful ;  and  the  gifted  ones 
must  go  forth  amid  the  less  favored  crowd,  and  bear  a 
light  to  gladden  their  other  brethren. 

And  he  who  resists  this  law,  who  would  make  of 
himself  and  his,  exceptions  to  this  rule — he  who  would 
go  through  this  world  without  conferring  one  benefit 
upon  those  who  have  ministered  to  his  wants,  and  sup 
plied  his  necessities,  those  who  have  cherished  his  in 
fancy,  and  preserved  his  maturer  life — be  who  would 
lay  down  a  useless  existence  in  an  unhonored  grave 
— he  who  would  do  this,  would  fain  believe  himself  a 


j£0  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

being  to  whom  the  faithful  observers  of  Heaven's 
mandate  should  bow,  and  cringe,  and  fawn,  and  kneel, 
and  thank  for  the  listless  smile,  and  pray  for  the  privi 
lege  to  watch  and  wait  around  him  ! 

Such  has  been,  and  such  still  is,  in  some  places,  the 
observance  of  the  law  of  labor.  True,  there  are  other 
spots  on  this  wide  earth  where  men  meet,  as  in  that 
long  past  time,  but  with  a  holier  purpose,  and  join 
with  one  heart  and  tongue  to  build  their  tower,  or  do 
whatever  else  necessity  or  choice  may  dictate.  But 
ere  long  the  aristocracy  will  arise ;  those  will  spring 
from  the  mass,  who  would  look  on  and  see  the  vast 
machine  in  motion,  and  enjoy  the  benefits  of  its  revo 
lution,  yet  never  put  their  own  shoulder  to  the  wheel; 
and  who  think,  by  this  disregard  of  the  great  law  im 
posed  upon  all,  to  purchase  an  immunity  of  privileges, 
of  which  they  would  also  deprive  the  laborer. 

VVr;  do  not  see  so  much  of  this  as  many  do.  There 
is  here  but  little  of  the  aristocracy,  but  few  of  those  for 
whom  all  must  be  done,  but  who  will  do  nothing  in 
n  turn;  we  have  but  little  of  this  aristocracy,  but  we 
have  the  aristocracy  of  employment.  It  is  perhaps  a 
new  phrase,  but  is  it  not  an  expressive  one  ?  We 
know  of  the  aristocracy  of  other  countries.  We  know 
that  with  all  its  evils  it  has  some  redeeming  influences. 
Wo  r:;jn  fonreive  of  the  stimulating  power  which  the 
aristocracy  of  birth  can  produce.  The  desire  to  be 
queath  untarnished  the  glorious  name  inherited  from 
his  ancestors,  may  deter  from  many  a  deed  of  sin  and 
meanness  the  proud  owner  of  this  inheritance  ;  or  the 
wish  to  add  one  other  leaf  to  the  laurel  wreath  which 
has  been  placed  by  fate  upon  his  brow,  may  spur  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  129 

wearer  to  some  glorious  act  of  bravery,  of  generosity, 
or  mental  exertion.  All  this  may  result  from  the  aris 
tocracy  of  birth.  We  have  it  not  here  :  from  its  ex 
cusable  traits,  and  its  inexcusable  principles,  we  are 
happily  free. 

But  ire  have  aristocracy.  That  of  wealth,  though 
more  excusable  here  than  that  of  birth  is  elsewhere,  is 
not  all  we  have.  I  say  more  excusable,  because  here 
wealth  must  be  the  toil- won  portion  of  its  possessor. 
No  law  of  entail  ensures  estates  to  a  privileged  few ; 
but  all  must  work,  or  fail  to  enjoy.  But  we  have  what 
is  more  tyrannical,  more  foolish  if  possible,  than  any 
other  aristocracy  —  that  of  employment. 

"  What  does  he  or  she  do  for  a  living  7  ?'  is  almost 
the  first  question  usually  asked  of  a  person,  after  an 
introduction.  Whenever  the  employment  is  indicative 
of  superior  talent,  merit  or  industry  in  the  operative, 
of  whatever  class,  there  is  good  reason  why  honor 
should  be  the  willing  tribute  paid  to  the  individual. 
Whenever  "  that  large  boon,  a  nation's  care,"  is  en 
trusted  to  the  man  whom  his  countrymen  have  deemed 
most  worthy  of  the  charge,  the  deference  due  to  the  sta 
tion,  and  the  merit  and  talent  which  have  procured 
him  that  station,  should  accompany  the  emoluments, 
trials,  cares  and  pleasures  which  must  also  be  his. 

There  is,  there  ever  must  be,  some  aristocracy. 
Where  all  can  never  be  alike,  some  must  of  course  be 
inferior  to  ethers  ;  but  let  there  be  no  other  than  this. 
Let  superiority  of  talent  or  merit  receive  the  deference 
which  to  these  is  usually  accorded  with  pleasure  :  but 
let  not  man  be  degraded  by  the  necessity  of  doing  out 
ward  homage  to  those  whom  in  his  inmost  heart  he 


130  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

despises  or  detests  ;  or  to  the  still  lower  degradation  of 
sincerely  honoring  that  which  more  enlightened  and 
juster  views  would  teach  him  is  dishonorable;  and  to 
admire  and  strive  to  imitate  that  which  he  would  then 
abhor.  We  would  that  honor  should  be  always  ren 
dered  to  him  to  whom  honor  is  due ;  but  we  would 
that  those,  and  only  those,  should  receive  it.  But  there 
are  so  many  false  ideas  of  honor  in  the  conventional 
relations  of  society,  so  much  of  respect  exacted  by, 
and  accorded  to,  station,  that  every  true  principle  of 
respect  is  crushed,  or  at  least  benumbed. 

He  who  wields  the  cloth-yard  measure,  deems  him 
self  far  more  worthy  of  respect  than  him  who  tills  the 
ground ;  he  who  girds  himself  for  war,  and  makes  it 
the  occupation  of  his  life  to  slay  his  brethren,  thinks 
himself  an  object  of  far  greater  value  than  him  whose 
days  are  spent  in  the  manufacture  of  the  necessities  or 
conveniences  of  life.  She  who  sits  at  ease  in  her  par 
lor,  would  fain  think  herself  a  better  and  nobler  being 
than  is  she  whose  every  thought,  and  act,  and  moment 
are  devoted  to  her  family ;  she  who  sits  and  fashions 
nice  attire,  believes  herself  of  greater  consequence  than 
the  individual  who  manufactured  the  article  of  which 
those  garments  are  made ;  and  thus,  through  all  the 
gradations  of  employment,  is  this  aristocracy. 

Is  it  not  foolish,  nay,  worse  than  foolish,  to  trample 
upon,  and  jeer,  and  scorn  those  who  are  bound  by  ne 
cessity's  stern  laws  to  some  harder  service,  some  less 
profitable  toil  than  ourselves  ?  Why  should  it  be  that 
those  who  do  most,  are  so  often  thought  to  be  deserving 
of  the  least  ?  The  hardest  working  man  is  usually  the 
poorest  man.  He  who  builds  a  palace,  must  himself 
be  content  with  a  cottage. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  131 

But  times  and  opinions  are  gradually  changing.  Old 
abuses  are  slowly  reforming,  and  a  juster  perception  of 
our  neighbor's  rights  mingles  with  more  correct  ideas 
of  our  own  duty.  The  laborer  gradually  rises  higher. 
As  years  pass  by,  some  portion  of  the  burden  is  cast 
upon  the  shoulders  of  those  who  have  hitherto  been 
favored  ones,  and  they  dare  not  endeavor  to  cast  it 
aside.  All  must  share  it,  though  each  should  take  that 
part  which  is  best  adapted  to  his  strength  and  capaci 
ties.  If  all  did  this,  and  all  will  some  day  do  it,  how 
easy  would  that  burden  be !  Nay,  it  would  hardly  be 
a  burden.  Labor,  it  is  true,  has  been  always  thought 
a  curse.  It  is  in  sacred  writ  pronounced  as  such  ;  but 
HE  who  declared  that  sentence,  is  one  who  has  merci 
fully  linked  it  with  blessings ;  and  those  who  would 
wholly  evade  it,  but  bring  upon  themselves  new  judg 
ments. 

But  as  mankind  progress  in  knowledge  and  in  holi 
ness  —  as  they  approach  that  state  of  perfection  which 
has  been  foretold  as  one  of  happiness  and  peace  —  the 
curse  is  gradually  removed  —  at  least  all  of  the  sen 
tence  which  can  be  pronounced  a  curse ;  for  as  new 
discoveries  are  continually  made,  as  new  inventions 
are  constantly  announced,  as  new  complications  of  ma 
chinery  are  rapidly  and  faithfully  assuming  the  labor 
er's  office,  as  matter  is  ever  becoming  more  surely  and 
completely  under  the  dominion  of  mind,  even  so  is  the 
curse  removed. 

Nay.  I  will  not  call  it  a  curse.  All  that  prevents  it 
from  being  an  unmingled  blessing,  is  taken  away,  and 
man  in  peaceful  brotherhood  enjoys  the  bounties  and 
obeys  the  mandates  of  his  Father. 


132  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

There  is,  as  all  believe,  a  brighter  day  to  dawn  on 
earth  —  a  day  when  peace,  equality  and  love  shall 
form  the  grand  features  of  the  social  plan ;  when  the 
laborer  shall  not  bow  to  him  who  would  bear  undue 
authority  —  for  all  shall  then  be  laborers ;  and  while 
"each  in  his  proper  station  moves,"  all  will  be  impelled 
by  truth  and  love. 


THE  UNSETTING  SUN. 

IT  was  nearly  sunset ;  and  seldom  did  a  more  richly- 
tinted  sky  glow  in  the  Occident,  than  on  that  fatal 
evening.  As  the  sun  sank  lower  in  the  gorgeous  clouds, 
their  brilliant  hues  of  crimson,  scarlet,  and  the  impe 
rial  dye,  assumed  a  more  vivid  tint ;  and  the  bright 
golden  vesture  beneath,  rolled  out  and  upward,  as  if 
to  envelope  those  varied  beauties  in  one  unbroken  sheet 
of  flame. 

A  mother  sat,  with  her  hushed  child  upon  her  knee ; 
and  as  she  looked  upon  the  splendors  of  the  natural 
world,  whether  revealed  in  the  bright  firmament  above, 
or  as  reflected  upon  the  broad  earth  beneath,  her  heart 
was  subdued  to  holy  thought ;  and  the  cares  and  trials 
which  erst  had  weighed  so  darkly  upon  her  spirit,  as 
sumed  a  radiant  light,  as  the  Divinity  found  access  to 
her  heart;  for  she  felt  that  they  were  but  clouds  veil 
ing  the  face  of  HIM  who  "is  a  Sun"  and  to  the  eye  of 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  133 

faith  presenting  a  softened  and  more  glorious  mani 
festation  of  the  Divine  presence. 

A  maiden  looked  upon  that  setting  sun ;  but  she 
thought  not  of  its  glories  —  for  her  imagination  leaped 
forward  to  the  hour  when  those  gay  colors  should  have 
faded  from  the  sky,  and  she.  with  one  who  was  very 
dear  to  her  young  heart,  should  stand  beneath  the 
light  of  stars,  as  they  glimmered  through  the  boughs 
of  the  trysting  tree. 

The  poet  looked  upon  that  sunset  sky ;  and,  as  he 
thought  how  much  of  brilliant  though  fleeting  loveli 
ness  was  concentrated  in  the  scene,  there  was  a  yearn 
ing  desire  in  his  breast  to  give  vent  in  gushing  song  to 
his  admiration  of  the  beautiful.  But  oh  !  what  could 
he  say  that  had  not  been  often  said  before  1  He  who 
first  poured  upon  the  swelling  tide  of  harmony  the 
feelings  kindled  by  the  glow  of  sunset,  could  not  have 
more  keenly  appreciated  its  revelations  of  beauty,  but. 
he  had  been  allowed  the  blessed  privilege  of  being  first 
to  give  them  utterance.  There  were  many  passages 
awakened  to  remembrance,  which  almost  seemed  his 
own,  so  spontaneously  did  they  respond  to  his  observa 
tion  of  the  immediately  visible.  One  occurred,  thus : 

"  Bright  clouds  !  ye  are  gathering  one  by  one, 
Ye  sweep  in  pomp  round  the  dying  sun, 
With  crimson  banner,  and  golden  pall, 
Like  a  host  to  their  chieftain's  funeral. 
But  methinks  that  ye  tower  with  a  lordlier  crest, 
And  a  gorgeous  flush  as  he  sinks  to  rest." 

Another  —  't  was  thus :  — 

"  I  met  thee  in  the  western  sky, 
In  pomp  of  evening  cloud  ; 


134  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

That  while  with  varying  form  it  rolled, 
Some  wizard's  castle  seemed  of  gold, 
And  now  a  crimsoned  knight  of  old, 
Or  king  in  purple  proud." 

The  long  and  beautiful  description  of  a  September  sun 
set,  by  another  poet,  came,  unbidden  of  memory,  to 
his  lips ;  and  he  felt  that  none  now  were  needed  to 
embody  the  radiant  beauties  of  such  an  hour,  in  the 
form  of  poesy.  But  blessed  indeed  were  those  permit 
ted  to  behold  them ;  yet  little  felt  he,  even  then,  of  the 
blessing  of  a  sunset  hour. 

A  maiden  raised  her  damp  head  from  a  dying  pillow, 
and  they  drew  aside  the  window  drapery  that  those 
sunken  eyes  might  look  once  more  upon  this  earthly 
glory.  "Are  they  not  heavenly  ?"  she  asked,  as  the 
spirit's  fires  glowed  with  rekindling  lustre  in  her  dark 
orbs :  "all  broken  in  a  thousand  parts,  yet  one, — 

"  '  One  as  the  ocean,  broken  into  waves, 
And  all  its  spongy  parts,  imbibing  deep 
The  moist  effulgence,  seem  like  fleeces,  dyed 
Deep  scarlet,  saffron  light,  or  crimson  dark, 
As  they  are  thick  or  thin,  or  near,  or  more  remote  ;  '  ' 

then,  sinking  back,  she  whispered  to  the  watchers 
near,  — 

"  '  May  be,  ere  morning's  light  shall  come, 
They  '11  bear  me  on  their  bosoms  home.'  ' 

*  *  *  Might  there  not  be  darker  minds  looking 
with  as  much  of  earnestness  upon  that  sun,  and  wish 
ing  that  the  hour  might  come  when  deeds  could  be 
performed,  whose  actors  shun  the  light  of  day  ? 

And  were  there  not  those  who  love  better  the  glare 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  135 

of  brilliant  chandelier,  than  the  purer  light  of  day; 
and  whose  bosoms  throbbed  with  anticipation  of  mid 
night  mirth  and  revelry? 

But  through  those  diifering  hearts  shot  one  wild 
thrill,  as  the  sinking  sun  paused  for  an  instant  upon 
the  verge  of  the  horizon,  then  turned  upon  "his  axle 
red."  Those  who  first  noticed  it,  spake  not  —  it  was 
no  time  for  words.  There  were  no  screams,  nor  shouts, 
nor  groans  :  these  are  the  articulations  of  natural  feel 
ings,  not  such  as  then  were  first  created  in  the  heart, 
and  could  not  find  an  utterance.  But  there  was  that 
deep,  awful,  more  than  deadly  silence,  which  loudly 
speaks  of  the  terrible. 

The  sun  was  going  back!  Yet,  without  a  word, 
how  soon  was  it  known  to  each  individual  of  an  awe 
struck  world  !  Men  closed  their  eyes,  and  then  looked 
up  again,  with  the  hope  that  a  glimmer  had  passed 
from  their  sight  —  then  they  hoped  it  was  an  optical 
delusion — and  then  that  it  was  some  wild  freak  of  the 
laws  of  light,  some  vagary,  caused  by  an  unaccounta 
ble  accident  in  the  process  of  refraction. 

And  there  they  stood,  all  pale  and  speechless,  in 
their  stolid  silence,  till  they  knew  it  was  no  delusion. 
The  crimson  blush  had  faded  from  the  western  sky, 
the  golden  fringe  had  dropped  from  every  low-hung 
cloud,  and  there  they  stood  in  mourning  robes  —  for  of 
the  scarlet  and  the  purple  hue  they  had  been  fearfully 
disrobed.  And  there  was  the  sun  traversing  a  back 
ward  path,  in  the  clear  expanse  above,  and  men  stood 
and  gazed  in  silent  fear.  Then  they  looked  upon  one 
another,  but  with  hasty  glances,  for  they  could  see  in 
the  countenances  of  others  but  the  reflection  of  the 


136  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

anguish  depicted  on  their  own.  Then  they  drew 
nearer  to  each  other,  that  they  might  watch  together — 
but  still  they  spake  not.  *  *  * 

All  hands  were  still — all  eyes  were  raised — but 
every  heart  was  throbbing  fast :  for  the  sun  was  near 
the  zenith.  Would  he  not  then  turn  and  descend,  as 
in  days  of  yore,  to  his  place  in  the  west  ?  This  was 
the  question  asked  by  all,  yet  asked  by  none  of  each 
other,  nor  spoken  in  words.  And  now,  for  a  moment, 
all  hearts  had  ceased  to  beat  —  for  the  sun  was  on  the 
meridian.  But  on  he  went,  down  to  an  eastern  sky. 
Then  they  threw  themselves  upon  their  faces,  and 
groaned  in  their  deep  despair.  But  terrible  as  was  the 
sight,  there  was  that  fascination  which  still  attracted 
their  gaze,  and  they  raised  themselves  from  the  earth, 
to  watch  again  his  course. 

Lower  he  sank  —  he  was  almost  down  —  and  the 
eastern  sky  blushed  at  the  approach  of  the  visitant, 
and  raised  towards  him,  as  with  a  welcoming  embrace, 
her  thin,  misty  arms,  and  was  clad  in  gorgeous  sheen 
for  the  new  comer.  For  a  moment,  as  he  seemed  to 
nestle  in  the  radiant  cloud-robes  which  enveloped  him, 
the  watchers  saw  not  whether  he  would  tarry.  But 
like  a  monarch,  who  rests  him  for  an  instant  on  a 
throne  of  state,  then  throws  aside  the  splendid  robes 
whose  pomp  had  dazzled  the  gazers,  so  did  he  leave 
his  radiant  couch,  and  re-commence  his  glad  career 
into  a  clearer  heaven. 

And  there  men  stood,  and  watched,  throughout  that 
live-long  day,  his  journey  to  the  west.  And  now,  he 
was  there ;  and  that  western  sky  was  awaiting  his 
approach,  even  as  a  mother  might  watch  the  return  of 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  137 

her  child  from  some  mad  prank ;  and  the  clouds  arrayed 
themselves  in  their  most  gorgeous  drapery,  as  if  they 
would  entice  him  to  his  couch  below.  But  like  a  way 
ward  boy,  who  might  not  be  subdued,  he  gaily  went 
back,  and  left  them  again,  to  pursue  his  wild  and  ter 
rible  career. 

Then  men  laid  their  hands  upon  their  mouths,  and 
their  mouths  in  the  dust,  and  prostrated  themselves  in 
prayer  before  their  Maker  ;  and  fathers  gathered  their 
household  bands  around  them,  and  raised  an  altar 
where  there  had  been  heretofore  no  worship ;  and 
those  who  had  scoffed  at  all  prayer,  as  but  vain  repe 
tition,  now  sent  up  the  audible  supplication,  "  Lord, 
have  mercy  upon  us  !  " 

And  through  the  next  day,  and  the  next  long,  sun 
shine  night  which  followed,  they  neither  ate,  nor  drank, 
nor  slept ;  but  watched  the  sun  in  his  back  and  forward 
course,  till  their  strength  failed,  from  excess  of  fear. 

The  mother  pressed  her  moaning  babe  to  her  aching 
heart,  and  went  to  her  inner  chamber,  and  shut  out 
that  terrible  light,  that  it  might  think  there  was  dark 
ness  without ;  and  while  she  prayed,  till  her  brow  was 
wet  with  the  dews  of  agony,  the  babe  "slumbered  and 
slept." 

The  maiden  who  had  looked  forward  to  the  evening 
hour  of  tryst,  now  thought  not  of  joy  or  love — of  mar 
rying  or  giving  in  marriage :  and  though  she  stood 
beside  her  betrothed,  yet  they  thought  not  and  spoke 
not  of  each  other,  but  an  unselfish  prayer  went  up  for 
all  else  —  for  they  felt  that  in  this  sacrifice  of  their 
dearest  hopes  and  affections,  a  value  would  be  given 
to  the  uprising  incense. 
12* 


138  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

There  was  now  a  new  theme  for  the  poet — one 
which  well  might  stir  the  deep  fount  of  feeling;  but 
truly  might  he  have  thought  that  language  could  never 
embody  the  emotions  for  which  it  had  never  been 
framed.  He  might  have  thought  this — but  he  did 
not.  He  thought  not  then  of  the  poem  which  he 
might  afterwards  have  produced.  It  is  not  in  the  mo 
ment  of  deepest  feeling  that  we  seek  to  give  it  form  in 
words.  It  is  after  emotion  has  subsided,  when  the 
sun-light  of  Genius  falls  upon  the  deep,  calm  well- 
spring  of  memory,  that  the  reflection  is  seen,  which 
the  quick  and  skilful  hand  may  then  transfer.  Neither 
the  sun,  nor  the  mist,  alotte,  can  make  the  rainbow ; 
but  when  they  are  rightly  joined,  the  gay  arch  spans 
the  heavens. 

The  invalid  had  gone  to  her  long  rest,  and  the  bright 
flush  of  excitement  faded  not  from  her  cheek  till  it  was 
pale  in  death ;  and  the  spirit  winged  its  flight,  bearing 
this  query  as  a  burden  before  the  throne,  "Why  hast 
Thou  dealt  thus  bitterly  with  Thy  creatures,  O  my 
God?" 

The  votaries  of  vice  and  of  pleasure  were  subdued, 
awed  and  purified  by  this  chastisement.  Willingly 
would  they  have  devoted  their  lives  to  the  service  of 
their  Creator,  might  life  but  once  more  be  a  season  for 
action,  toil,  and  service  in  His  cause.  But  what  could 
they  do  now  ?  They  walked  the  earth  in  hopeless 
agony;  they  wrung  their  hands,  and  groaned  in  spirit; 
and  then  they  flung  themselves  upon  their  beds,  that 
they  might  once  more  sleep,  even  if  there,  were  to  be 
no  more  night.  And,  if,  perchance,  their  fevered 
frames  sunk  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  from  excess  of 


Or    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  139 

excitement,  they  dreamed  that  they  were  out  beneath 
a  clear,  deep  evening  sky,  and  that  stars  were  sending 
down  their  pale  beams  upon  a  silent  world,  or  that 
the  moon  was  silvering  the  earth  with  radiance,  save 
where  the  shadows  stood,  like  dark  transfixtures  in 
the  brightness.  And  even  while  they  deemed  that  the 
cool  breath  of  eve  was  upon  them,  they  awakened  to 
that  horrid  glare,  and  looked  out  upon  a  scorched  earth 
or  a  misty  sky,  through  which  the  red  sun,  like  a  de 
stroying  dragon,  was  wending  still  his  strange  and 
mystic  way.  *  *  * 

It  was  the  Sabbath ;  and  the  first  loud  sound  of  life 
was  the  chime  of  the  church-going  bells,  as  they  called 
together  the  worshippers.  There  was  no  need  of  the 
loud  call  —  for  they  thronged  to  their  temples,  as 
though  they  hoped  the  prayer,  which  had  gone  up 
singly  from  each  one  present,  would  be  answered  now, 
if  sent  in  one  united  petition.  There  was  also  that 
desire  for  social  worship  which  we  feel  when  we  would 
receive  or  communicate  the  glowing  flame;  and  stronger 
than  this  was  the  wish  to  make  a  public  manifestation 
of  their  feeling  of  subjection  to  THE  SUPREME.  They 
said  not  now,  "  We  can  worship  in  our  hearts,  and  in 
our  homes  —  for  God  is  everywhere  present;"  but 
there  was  the  yearning  desire  to  show  unto  all  men 
that  they  could  bow  in  humility  and  penitence  before 
their  Creator. 

How  few  were  sick,  or  tired,  or  necessarily  detained 
that  day !  All  seats  were  filled,  and  aisles  were 
thronged  ;  the  proud  man  opened  the  door  of  his  cush 
ioned  pew,  that  the  swarth  son  of  Afric  might  find  a 
place  at  his  right  hand,  and  the  gay  belle,  undecked 


1/10 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


for  this  day's  worship,  knelt  down  beside  her  rival's 
waiting-maid. 

A  change  had  also  come  upon  the  pastors.  He  who 
had  stood  before  his  charge,  and  spoken  of  God,  of 
heaven,  and  immortality,  as  though  they  were  but 
words  to  round  a  period  —  who  had  coldly  given  them 
his  ethical  discourses,  or,  if  he  sought  to  move,  had 
done  it  by  exciting  admiration  of  his  well-chosen  words 
and  glowing  imagery  —  that  man  stood  that  day  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  "Spare 
Thou  us,  O  our  God  !  and  turn  away  from  Thy  fierce 
anger." 

The  man  who  had  stood  before  his  flock  as  though 
they  were  a  faultless  throng,  and  cried,  "Peace! 
peace !  "  as  though  there  were  no  tempters  [from 
within, — he  stood  that  day  and  called  out  in  his 
agony,  "  Unclean !  unclean !  before  heaven  and  in 
Thy  sight." 

The  man  who  had  stood  in  the  preacher's  desk,  as 
though  he  were  a  delegate  from  the  Almighty,  and  in 
him  had  been  vested  the  power  of  eternal  life  or  death 
—  who  had  said  as  he  chose,  "  Thy  sins  be  forgiven 
thee,"  or  "Be  thou  henceforth  accursed  by  me  "  — 
who  had  bestowed  benedictions  or  anathemas,  at  the 
suggestion  of  his  own  overbearing  will  —  who  had 
blessed  what  God  had  not  blessed,  and  cursed  what 
He  had  never  cursed,  —  he,  too,  knelt  down  among 
his  fellows,  and  cried,  "  Lord,  be  merciful  unto  me,  a 
sinner ! " 

In  the  great  square  of  a  crowded  city,  there  was 
gathered  a  throng,  who  could  not  find  admittance  to 
any  consecrated  sanctuary ;  and  one  came  forward  to 


OF    THE    SEA    OF     GENIUS.  141 

lead  their  devotions,  who  had  been  derided  and  scoffed 
at,  and  even  imprisoned  for  fanaticism.  It  might  be 
that  the  fire  of  zeal  had  burned  too  fiercely  on  his 
brain,  and  his  wild  exhortations  had  often  seemed  but 
blasphemy.  But  he  was  solemn  now;  and  stood  be 
fore  them  with  downcast  eyes  and  upraised  hands,  his 
white  locks  streaming  over  his  long  black  robe,  and 
the  fire  of  insanity  subdued  beneath  the  more  awful 
light  of  that  unsetting  sun ;  and  as  he  uttered  forth  the 
spontaneous  prayer,  he  felt  that  it  was  but  the  expres 
sion  of  all  who  were  present. 

"And  now,  O  Lord  !  "  continued  he,  "we  have  as 
sembled  ourselves  together,  we  have  gathered  about 
the  altar  we  dedicated  to  Thee,  and  we  have  come  to 
ask  a  strange  petition,  even  that  darkness  again  might 
cover  the  earth,  and  thick  darkness  the  heavens.  The 
land  trembleth  and  sorroweth,  and  one  cry  goeth  up  to 
Thee,  that  the  earth  may  be  darkened,  and  the  sun 
withdraw  his  shining.  We  ask  it  in  faith;  for  we 
know  that  if  Thou  wilt,  this  thing  can  be,  —  for  our 
Redeemer  is  strong ;  the  Lord  of  Hosts  is  His  name : 
He  it  is  who  can  take  away  our  fears,  and  turn  our 
sighs  into  shouts  of  rejoicing. 

"And  now,  our  God,  was  there  ever  sorrow  like 
unto  our  sorrow?, was  there  ever  affliction  like  unto 
that  with  which  we  are  afflicted?  We  have  trespassed 
and  rebelled,  and  Thou  hast  not  pardoned.  Thou 
hast  covered  thyself  with  wrath,  and  persecuted. 
Thou  hast  slain,  and  hast  not  pitied.  Yet  they  that 
be  slain  with  the  sword  are  better  than  they  who  per 
ish  from  hunger,  and  they  that  starve  are  better  than 
they  who  pine  and  are  stricken  with  deadly  fear.  We 


142  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

are  wasting  away  in  Thy  sight,  for  our  eyes  have 
failed  in  looking  for  relief;  yea,  they  are  blinded  he- 
cause  of  the  terrible  brightness.  Yet  forget  us  not  for 
ever,  though  Thou  hast  now  forsaken  us ;  but  turn 
unto  us,  and  renew  Thy  kindness,  as  in  days  of  old. 
Let  not  this  wonderful  and  horrible  thing  continue,  as 
a  memento  of  Thy  wrath  ;  but  bless  us  again  with  the 
evening  and  the  morning  which  make  the  day. 

"  We  feel  that  we  are  not  worthy  of  this  favor.  We 
ask  it  not  as  one  might  ask  justice  of  his  fellow  men  ; 
but  we  come  before  Thee  as  sinful  children,  appealing 
to  the  undeserved  tenderness  of  an  oft-forgotten  parent. 
And  now  take  from  us  our  iniquity,  and  the  punish 
ment  it  has  brought  upon  us,  and  receive  us  graciously; 
so  will  we  render  unto  Thee  the  homage  of  our  lips. 
And  let  not  the  oblations  of  our  spirits  be  in  vain  ;  but 
accept  of  the  broken  hearts  which  we  lay  low  in  the 
dust  before  Thee.  We  lift  the  voice,  and  bend  the 
knee ;  and  beseech  that  Thou  wilt  lay  by  the  terrors 
of  Thy  brightness,  and  shroud  Thee  in  darkness  — 
for  in  Thy  great  glory  Thou  art  very  terrible  ;  but  let 
the  lid  fall  upon  that  dazzling  eye  which  has  been 
stationed  over  us,  and  veil  Thee  in  shadows  of  the 
night,  that  we  may  come  into  Thy  presence  without 
fear  and  trembling. 

"We  know  that  we  are  vile  before  Thee.  Thou 
hast  searched  our  hearts  with  Thy  radiance,  till  their 
deepest  recesses  can  no  longer  hide  the  secret  sins.  We 
lay  them  all  before  Thee ;  the  forbidden  things  which 
we  have  cherished  in  the  darkness,  are  brought  to  the 
light ;  and  spurn  not  the  petition  of  those  who  would 
make  themselves  clean  in  Thy  sight,  though  unworthy, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  143 

even  in  our  best  estate,  of  the  favor  we  would  ask. 
Yea,  deal  not  Thou  with  us  according  to  the  counsels 
of  Thy  justice,  but  according  to  the  dictates  of  Thy 
mercy  and  loving  kindness,  that  we  may  feel  that  a 
reconciling  and  tender  Parent  is  still  our  Guardian 
and  God,  and  we  may  stand  before  Thee  as  children, 
and  lift  up  our  voices  to  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven. 

"The  earth  mourneth,  O  Lord!  the  land  is  desolate, 
because  the  heavens  above  are  not  black.  We  pray 
again  for  darkness,  that  it  might  cover  the  earth,  and 
thick  darkness  the  heavens.  Thou  hast  dealt  strangely 
with  us,  in  Thy  providence.  Thou  hast  marked  the 
courses  of  the  sun,  and  it  turneth  back.  Thou  hast 
commanded  a  backward  way,  and  it  walketh  therein. 
Thou  didst  stay  its  going  down  for  Thy  servant  of  old, 
and  now  wilt  Thou  not  hear  our  petition,  and  bid  it 
seek  again  its  place  of  rest,  and  let  once  more  the 
evening  and  the  morning  make  the  day  ? 

"We  feel  that  we  are  unworthy  of  this  blessing. 
Yea,  it  is  thus  Thou  hast  taught  us  that  it  is  a  bless 
ing  ;  for  we  were  wont  to  lie  down  and  rest,  when 
Thou  didst  draw  around  us  the  curtains  of  the  night, 
and  forget  that  the  darkness,  even  as  the  light,  was 
also  the  banner  of  Thy  love. 

"And  now,  O  Lord!  the  prayer  which  goeth  up 
from  many  hearts  before  Thee,  wilt  thou  hear  in 
heaven,  Thy  dwelling-place,  and  when  thou  hearest, 
answer  and  forgive."  And  all  the  people  said,  "Amen." 

Yet  that  Sabbath  night,  when  a  humbled  world 
looked  in  trembling  hope  to  the  sun,  as  he  was  sinking 
in  the  west,  they  groaned  in  irrepressible  anguish, 
when  they  saw  that  he  again  turned  back. 


144  SHELLS    FROM    THE    STRAND 

But  during  this  long  sunshine,  there  had  been  fre 
quent  and  copious  showers,  for  the  process  of  evapo 
ration  had  been  rapid.  These  were  now  succeeded  by 
terrible  tempests.  There  were  hurricanes  upon  the 
land,  and  storms  upon  the  ocean.  There  were  whirl 
winds,  water-spouts,  thunderings  above,  and  quakings 
beneath ;  there  were  avalanches,  slides,  eruptions,  and 
mad  confusion  of  "  the  lightning  and  the  gale." 

Then,  when  for  a  time  there  was  a  cessation  of  the 
terrible  commotion,  they  thought  of  nought  but  the 
devastation  which  had  been  made.  The  ocean  strand 
was  but  a  wall  of  wrecks,  and  upon  those  ever-restless, 
upheaving  billows,  none  now  would  have  thought  to 
venture.  Forests  had  been  prostrated,  fields  destroyed, 
valleys  overflowed,  sea-ports  submerged,  and  inland 
cities  overthrown.  Strong  towers  toppled,  and  fell ; 
bulwarks  were  laid  prostrate  ;  temples  were  crumbled 
into  fragments ;  and  the  earth  was  one  wide  scene  of 
ruin. 

From  the  first,  there  had  been  strange  commotion, 
distress,  madness,  and  then  death,  among  the  animal 
creation.  Birds  had  soared  shrieking  in  the  heavens, 
then  fluttered  back  to  their  nests,  but  never  ceased 
from  their  restless  screaming.  Beasts  had  roamed 
howling  over  the  plains,  and  then  returned  to  the  hab 
itations  of  man,  and  crouched  moaning  at  the  feet  of 
humanity,  with  that  instinct  which  bids  them  look  to 
man  for  aid,  when  there  is  evil  they  can  neither  avoid 
nor  comprehend.  But  when  granaries  were  destroyed, 
and  fields  blasted,  then  came  famine  for  them :  and 
their  fierce  madness  was  soon  terminated  by  an  agoniz 
ing  death.  From  their  smoking  carcasses  went  up  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  145 

pestilence,  which  was  to  sweep  the  earth  with  a  new 
besom  of  destruction.  And  the  gaunt  spectre  traversed 
the  land,  like  a  warrior  who  has  but  to  come  and  see, 
to  conquer. 

In  the  intervals  of  calmness,  men  sought  not  to  repair 
the  desolation,  or  provide  against  the  future.  There 
was  that  hopeless,  settled  despair  brooding  upon  them, 
which  forbids  all  exertion.  At  first  they  had  gathered 
together  the  crushed  and  mangled  dead,  and  buried 
them  with  those  who  had  died  from  fear  and  excite 
ment  ;  but  soon  even  the  rites  of  sepulture  were  aban 
doned.  Mothers  sucked  in  the  putrid  breath  of  their 
fevered  infants,  or  held  their  cold  corpses  in  their  arms, 
with  the  hope  that  thus  they  too  might  depart  the 
sooner.  Fathers  stood  over  the  stiff  forms  of  sons,  of 
whom  they  erst  had  been  so  proud,  and  smiled  to  view 
their  latest  gasp.  Yet  few  could  be  found  to  care  for 
others,  each  was  so  wholly  absorbed  in  his  own  terrors. 

The  last  thing  which  had  been  done  in  unison,  was 
to  assemble  together,  upon  a  day  appointed  for  Fast 
ing,  Humiliation,  and  Prayer.  That  day  was  well 
observed.  There  were  none  heard  to  say,  "It  is  but 
a  day  of  man's  appointment,  and  we  regard  it  not;" 
but  there  was  a  solemn  joy  that  they  could  thus  pub 
licly  consecrate  to  God  a  day  which  He  had  not  re 
served  as  his  own.  There  was  a  feeling  of  hope  that 
this  observance  might  not  be  disregarded,  and  that 
prayer  offered  then  might  find  acceptance  at  the  mercy- 
seat.  They  neither  ate,  nor  drank,  nor  spake  one  to 
another ;  but  cleansed  their  garments,  and  bowed  to 
gether  in  deep  solemnity  before  their  Maker. 

But  when,  on  that  eve,  the  sun  again  went  back, 
13 


146  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

the  watchers  in  their  anguish  cried  out,  "  How  long  ? 
O  Lord!  How  long?"  But  after  this,  all  prayers 
went  up,  in  dread  and  hopelessness,  from  solitary  hearts ; 
and  the  dying  wasted  silently  from  the  earth.  *  *  * 

On  a  broad  expanse  of  table-land  were  collected  the 
survivors  of  a  world.  Thither  had  they  come  to  avoid 
the  flood,  the  fire,  the  crash  of  rocks,  and  fall  of  for 
ests  ;  and  there  they  awaited  the  approach  of  Death. 
Calmly  and  fearlessly  was  he  received,  as  he  came  to 
one  and  another,  till  the  band  were  almost  gone. 

There  were  two  there  together  —  a  husband  and 
.wife ;  and  even  through  that  long  agony,  her  love  had 
failed  him  not ;  and  now  his  delirious  head  was  repos 
ing  on  her  faithful  breast.  She  bent  low  to  hear  the 
words  which  faltered  on  his  parched  lips,  and  shrank 
again  when  she  found  that  it  was  an  unwitting  impre 
cation  and  blasphemy.  But  when  the  expiring  light 
of  the  soul  flickered  once  more  in  the  sunken  eye,  she 
.gently  murmured  in  his  ear,  "Though  He  slay  me, 
yet  will  I  trust  in  Him."  The  tone,  the  words,  and 
the  manner,  soothed  his  vain  murmurings,  and  reclin 
ing  on  that  unwearied  bosom,  he  breathed  his  last. 

At  length  the  last  man  was  alone.  He  had  seen  the 
woman,  his  latest  companion,  stretch  her  cold  limbs  by 
her  husband's  form,  and  close  her  own  eyes,  when  she 
knew  that  the  hour  was  come  :  and  he  had  seen  it  all 
unmoved.  Sympathy  had  long  been  dead,  and  con 
sciousness  was  numb.  Once  he  raised  his  lithe,  dark, 
shrivelled  form  from  the  earth,  and  looked  above,  and 
around.  There  were  the  bleaching  bones  of  those  who 
first  had  come,  and  nearer  still  were  the  thin,  black, 
parchment  forms  of  the  later  dead.  And  over  them 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  147 

was  that  unsetting  sun,  wending  his  way  in  a  clear 
sky,  which  that  day  was  of  a  pale,  brassy  hue. 

He  sank  back,  but  withdrew  not  his  keen,  dark  eye 
from  the  course  of  that  bright  orb,  for  it  was  sinking 
in  the  west,  and  he  wished  once  more  to  see  it  turn 
back,  with  the  feeling  of  triumphant  victory,  that  he 
could  view  it  now  unmoved. 

Lower  it  sank,  and  still  he  watched  in  feverish  exul 
tation.  "  Now  turn  thee  back,  that  I  may  behold  it 
this  once."  But  no  !  the  edge  had  dipped  below  the 
horizon.  He  started  up  —  drew  his  hands  across  his 
brow,  as  if  to  brush  away  the  brain-phantom  which 
had  crossed  his  vision  —  then  looked  again,  to  know 
that  it  was  no  illusion  —  that  it  was  partly  gone.  He 
sent  forth  one  loud  shout  of  mingled  hope,  joy,  exulta 
tion,  and  despair  —  then  wildly  tossed  his  arms  above 
his  head,  "and,  when  the  sun  went  down,  he  died." 


THE  PORTRAIT   GALLERY. 

No.  I.  — POCAHONTAS. 

I  LOVE  to  be  here,  and  muse  amidst  these  lineaments 
of  the  departed;  and  to  see  how  brightly  these  forms 
stand  forth  from  the  dim  obscurity  of  the  past,  though 
here  but  by  Memory  and  Imagination  are  they  por 
trayed —  yet  they  have  done  well;  and  where  the  one 
hath  found  the  task  too  hard,  the  other  hath  been  ever 


148  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

ready,  with  her  magic  brush,  and  brilliant  lights,  and 
never  hath  she  wrought  in  vain. 

Here  are  the  good,  the  lovely,  and  the  noble-hearted ; 
those  to  whom  life  was  ever  as  a  gladsome  dream,  and 
those  to  whom  it  was  a  scene  of  sorrow.  Here  is  the 
queen,  and  here  the  subject:  here  the  saint,  and  here  the 
savage ;  here  the  woman  of  olden  time,  and  here  the 
maiden  of  later  days.  Here  are  those  of  many  different 
lands,  and  climes ;  the  children  of  the  long  forgotten, 
and  also  of  the  recent,  Past.  It  is  good  to  be  here ;  and 
I  will  sometimes  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  the  living,  and 
the  present,  and  come,  as  now,  to  hold  communion  with 
the  dead.  But  when  I  speak,  they  answer  me  not  — 
those  rosy  lips  are  never  parted;  those  sparkling  eyes 
can  never  vary  in  their  glance ;  and  I  must  commune 
with  myself,  and  cherish  every  thought  which  may 
come  to  me  amidst  the  stillness. 

Here  is  a  strange,  and  yet  a  fascinating  scene ;  the 
portrait  of  one  who  was  noble  in  birth,  in  mind,  and 
in  her  destiny.  There  are  but  few  of  the  royal  in  our 
new-found  world ;  and  thou,  sweet  daughter  of  Pow- 
hatan,  shalt  here  precede  all  queens,  and  subjects  of 
the  East.  How  many  characters  were  once  combined 
in  thee  !  The  child  of  an  emperor,  and  yet  of  a  sav 
age  ;  a  heathen,  and  then  a  Christian  ;  the  daughter  of 
an  Indian,  the  wife  of  a  Briton ;  the  foster-mother  of 
an  infant  nation,  and  yet  how  soon  its  captured  vic 
tim  ;  the  savior  of  one  who  could  grieve,  if  not  abandon 
thee;  Matoaka,*  Pocahontas,  and  Rebecca  —  how 
many  wild  associations  are  mingled  with  those  names; 
thoughts  of  man's  dark  deeds,  and  passions;  of  woman's 

*  Matoaka  was  her  real  Imlian  name  ;  Pocahontas,  the  name  liy  which 
she  was  known  to  the  whites. 


OF    THE   SEA    OF   GENIUS.  149 

firmness,  love,  and  trust;  of  the  lights  and  shades 
which  play  over  that  era  in  our  country's  story ;  and 
of  the  romance  which  may  be  woven  into  the  fate  of  a 
forest  maiden. 

Pocahontas  is  here  delineated  in  the  attitude  which 
to  us  appears  most  interesting.  Here  is  Powhatan's 
wigwam,  and  the  chieftain  is  seated,  in  savage  state, 
amidst  his  warriors,  arrayed  in  belt,  and  mantle,  and 
feathery  crown.  The  light  of  the  blazing  pine  flickers 
upon  the  roof,  sides,  and  floor  of  the  sylvan  dwelling. 
Its  dusky  inmates  preserve  a  stern,  unbroken  silence ; 
and  every  face  is  blank,  but  for  the  expression  of 
strong,  unwavering,  purpose.  In  the  centre  of  the 
group  is  the  block,  and  victim ;  for  the  white  man  has 
bowed  himself  to  die.  But  whose  is  this  slight,  child 
ish  form,  which  bursts  upon  the  group,  and  lies  itself, 
as  a  shield,  to  receive  the  destined  blow  ?  A  murmur 
bursts  from  the  compressed  lips  of  each  wild  man,  and 
there  is  a  thrill  throughout  the  stolid  group.  They 
could  have  seen  the  blow  fall  upon  that  devoted  one, 
and  watched  his  writhings  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and 
still  have  sat,  as  did  that  old  assembly  before  their 
Gothic  conquerors,  and  which  could  scarcely  be  distin 
guished  from  the  statues  which  surrounded  them. 

But  for  this  they  are  unprepared,  and  for  this  they 
must  arouse,  and  act.  To  some  of  them  the  girl  ap 
pears  as  have  the  phantoms  which  flitted  by  their  path 
in  stealthy  midnight  march,  or  when,  at  twilight,  they 
had  roamed  through  the  depths  of  the  thick  forest. 
There  was  more  of  fear  than  hatred  in  their  hearts 
when  they  decreed  that  that  strange  man  should  die. 
But  does  not  the  Great  Spirit  send  guardian  ones  to 
13* 


150  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

shield  him)  or  has  he  not  "a  medicine"  which  can 
summon  the  supernatural  to  his  aid?  or  is  that  figure 
but  the  wreathing  smoke,  which  curls  in  wild  fantastic 
forms  around  them  all  ? 

These  are  the  thoughts  with  which  they  quickly 
start,  for  soon  they  all  know,  as  Powhatan  knew  at 
first,  that  it  is  his  best  loved  child,  the  little  Matoaka. 
They  try  to  force,  to  coax  her  away,  but  with  her 
arms  twined  round  the  stranger's  neck,  she  tells  them, 
that  if  a  blow  is  dealt  on  him,  it  first  shall  cut  through 
her.  There  is  something  strange,  almost  mysterious, 
in  this.  The  chieftain's  heart  is  touched  —  not  solely 
by  the  tears  and  prayers  of  that  young  girl,  but  by  the 
fear  that  harm  will  come  upon  himself,  if  wrong  is 
done  the  pale-face.  Has  not  the  Great  Spirit  been 
whispering  to  his  child  ?  Did  not  HE  bid  her  thwart 
her  father's  will?  'Tis  very  strange  —  but  her  peti 
tion  is  granted,  and  the  emperor  bids  the  white  man 
live. 

Such  is  the  scene.  It  is  Pocahontas,  as  she  first 
appears  upon  the  page  of  story  ;  and  she  starts  upon 
the  historian,  much  as  her  own  red  warriors  were 
wont  to  burst  upon  our  exiled  fathers. 

There  is  darkness,  midnight,  and  storms.  The 
records  of  history  have  been  those  of  struggles,  vexa 
tions,  disappointments,  privations,  selfishness,  and 
sometimes  follies,  and  crimes.  How  beautifully  does 
this  young  girl  come,  like  a  visitant  from  the  ethereal 
world,  in  her  innocence,  trust,  and  self-forgetfulness ; 
but  she  does  not,  like  a  phantom,  pass  "in  light  away." 
From  this  moment  she  is  the  friend,  guardian,  and 
savior  of  that  little  stranger  band.  It  is  through  her 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  151 

instrumentality  that  they  have  land,  food,  friends,  and 
— peace.  She  hears  of  treachery,  and  goes  through 
"  the  deep-tangled  wild  wood,"  alone,  and  in  "  the 
darksome  night,"  to  tell  them  of  their  foes.  She  dares 
not  take  one  token  of  gratitude  or  love,  for  fear  that 
her  father  will  see  it,  "and  kill  her."  He  whose  life 
has  more  than  once  been  saved  by  her,  would  give  her 
jewels  in  which  she  may  shine  among  her  fellow- 
maidens,  but  she  can  accept  of  nothing  now. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  character  of  Pocahontas, 
which  appeals  for  sympathy  to  the  clannish  instincts 
of  our  nature.  She  does  not  concentrate  in  her  own  heart 
the  loves,  hates,  hopes,  fears,  joys,  and  sorrows,  of  her 
people.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  something  like  false 
hood  to  her  father,  her  kindred,  and  her  race.  But  we 
love  and  esteem  her  the  more  for  this.  It  was  not 
that  aught  was  wanting  in  her  heart  which  dwelt  in 
theirs,  of  social  and  domestic  affection,  or  even  of  pa 
triotism  ;  but  that  she  had  that  which  they  did  not 
possess  —  innocence,  which  could  suspect  no  evil ; 
conscientiousness,  which  could  permit  no  wrong ;  be 
nevolence,  which  yearned  to  do  good  to  the  pilgrim 
and  stranger;  and  disinterestedness,  which  could  forget 
all  thought  of  self  in  her  exertions  for  the  benefit  of 
others.  We  never  feel  that  her  opposition  to  her  father, 
and  her  race,  was  from  lack  of  aught  that  is  noble  or 
kindly  in  our  nature ;  and  we  wonder  no  more  that 
she  could  never  sympathize  with  her  dark-browed 
kindred,  than  that  the  daughter  of  Shylock  was  false 
to  him,  and  to  her  Hebrew  faith.  Pocahontas  is  sep 
arate  from  all  her  tribe,  because  there  are  none  else 
pure,  soul-like,  gentle,  and  affectionate,  like  her.  A 


152  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

lonely  life  must  hers  have  been  in  early  days,  yearning 
for  communion  with  those  she  could  not  find ;  sending 
forth  the  warm  aspirations  of  her  heart  into  the  void 
around  her,  to  be  ever  reminded  that  they  are  but 
wasted  breath.  How  she  struggled  to  love  that  which 
was  not  lovely ;  to  mingle  with  that  with  which  she 
had  no  affinity ;  to  learn  that  of  which  no  one  could 
teach  her;  to  worship  where  she  could  not  believe. 
But  when  the  white  man  came  to  her,  as  if  from  the 
Spirit  Land,  with  his  magic  powers,  his  mysterious 
arts,  his  strange  yet  beauteous  frame,  for  little  could 
she  know  that  his  clothing  was  not  the  gift  of  Nature, 
and  the  huge  winged  monsters  which  bore  him  o'er 
the  deep,  there  was  a  trembling  hope  that  here  might 
be  arrested  the  vague  aspirings  of  her  heart.  His  deeds 
of  prowess  are  the  theme  of  every  tongue  ;  and  when 
they  come  and  tell  her  of  his  words  —  how  that  the 
stars  are  far-off  suns,  and  the  moon  a  shining  world ; 
how  that  the  earth  is  round,  and  people  dwell  beneath 
their  feet;  how  there  are  lands  beyond  the  great  waters, 
where  the  people  are  thick  as  leaves  upon  the  trees,  the 
hairs  upon  the  head,  the  stars  in  the  sky,  and  the 
sands  upon  the  sea-shore,  and  "  how  the  sun  did  chase 
the  night  around  the  earth"  —there  is  a  trembling 
hope  that  in  these  may  be  found  companions  who  can 
satisfy  her  questioning  spirit.  Hitherto  her  life  has 
been  an  isolated  one  —  father,  mother,  friends,  are  all 
as  though  another  race  of  beings  — 

"  A  lily  in  the  wilderness,  lifting  its  pure  white  brow 
Amidst  the  weeds  and  thorns  around,  such,  Indian  maid,  wert  thou." 

But  she  is  never  aloof  from  them  —  she  mingles  in  every 
scene  of  rude  festivity,  she  wails  when  they  send  forth 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  153 

the  funeral  cry,  she  dances  with  her  maidens  in  the 
moonlight,  on  the  forest  green,  but  she  is  not  satisfied ; 
when  alone  she  is  still  and  sorrowful.  Nay,  she  never 
is  alone  —  she  stands  by  the  waters,  and  they  send 
forth  their  rough  chorus ;  she  sits  upon  the  hill-side, 
and  the  winds  chant  their  loud  anthem ;  she  lies  down 
in  the  wild- wood  shade,  and  the  leaf-harps  send  forth 
a  sweet  music,  unheard  by  other  ears.  Nature  is  ever 
around  her,  and  never  mute  ;  but  she  speaketh  with  a 
strange  tongue.  The  girl  has  been  taught  to  worship 
Okee,  but  still  her  altar  has  ever  been  erected  to  an 
Unknown  God.  Pocahontas  is  no  angel,  but  she  is  a 
gentle,  sensitive,  reflective  being,  where  all  are  rude, 
gross,  and  sensual.  She  feels  painfully  that  ignorance 
of  those  laws  of  Nature,  and  of  our  being,  which  is 
ever  so  oppressive  to  the  meditative  mind.  And  when 
she  knows  that  another  and  nobler  race  of  beings  have 
come  to  live  among  them,  how  quickly  comes  the 
thought  that  of  them  she  can  learn,  in  these  confide, 
and  to  these  assimilate.  The  white  men  were  not 
what  she  had  thought  them,  but  they  were  a  superior 
race  of  beings.  She  was  not  mistaken  there.  They 
could  teach  her  much  which  she  fain  would  know ; 
they  declare  unto  her  the  UNKNOWN  GOD,  and  she  could 
not  then  understand  their  selfishness,  avarice,  contempt 
of  heathens,  and  the  wrongs  they  meditated  upon  her 
race. 

"Blessed  are  always  the  .pure  in  heart" — and 
blessed  was  this  heathen  girl  in  the  possession  of  a 
heart  so  open  to  all  holy  truth,  so  repel lant  of  all  of 
evil  with  which  she  found  it  mingled. 

It  was  always  difficult  for  the  Indian  to  understand 


154  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

•> 

why  the  white  man  came  upon  his  lands.  He  questioned 
of  it  as  did  the  ancient  Briton,  when  the  Roman  came 
to  his  island  home,  and  Pocahontas  must  have  lent  a 
credulous  ear  to  the  plausible  reasons  which  they  gave, 
for  leaving  splendor,  comfort,  home,  and  friends,  to 
come  among  her  benighted  people.  They  \vould  give 
these  heathen  a  better  religion,  and  how  instinctively 
her  spirit  receives  the  Holy  Word  as  truth.  To  her 
they  are  not  colonists,  but  pilgrims ;  not  adventurers, 
but  missionaries ;  and  they  are  dependent  upon  her 
favor.  She  watches  around  them  as  a  spirit  of  the 
upper  world  might  hover  over  us  —  beautiful,  benign, 
and  melancholy  Pocahontas — lovely,  virtuous,  dig 
nified,  and  happy  Rebecca. 

Were  a  band  of  visitants  to  come  to  us,  from  another 
sphere,  a  race  superior  in  mind,  and  far  more  beautiful 
in  person  than  we,  whose  hearts  would  yearn  towards 
them  from  quickest  sympathy  1  whose  feelings  would 
most  readily  respond  to  theirs  ?  and  by  whom  would 
their  wants  and  wishes  first  be  met  ?  By  the  pure,  the 
imaginative,  the  spiritually-minded.  Those  whose 
souls  have  oftenest  wandered  in  the  highest  regions  of 
the  ideal.  And  those  who  would  shrink,  would  quail, 
would  turn  indifferent  away,  would  be  the  irreligious, 
heartless,  and  earthly-minded.  These  strange  visitants 
might  have  powers  of  harm,  and  thoughts  of  wrong, 
but  if  they  were  different  from  ours,  we  should  not,  if 
innocent  ourselves,  be  ready  to  suspect  them  of  evil. 

It  was  thus  that,  in  both  North  and  South  America, 
those  who  were  most  prompt  in  their  appreciation  of 
the  powers,  and  most  ready  to  extend  their  sympathies 
to  the  white  man,  were  superior  to  their  fellows,  as 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  155 

surely  as  they  were  afterwards  the  first  to  foresee,  and 
the  most  strenuous  in  their  efforts  to  prevent,  the  evil 
which  impended  over  their  people. 

There  is  an  interest  almost  sublime  in  contemplating 
the  character  and  fate  of  these  red-browed  men,  as 
connected  with  our  pale-faced  ancestors — these  children 
of  Nature,  contrasted  with  the  children  of  Civilization. 
When  they  came  in  little  bands,  "a  feeble  folk,"  with 
out  provision,  shelter,  or  lands,  they  were  welcomed, 
supported,  and  cherished,  till  fears  were  excited  for 
their  own  safety,  and  preservation.  Then  came  the 
deadly  struggle  —  then  stood  they  foe  to  foe  —  the  one 
strong  in  civilized  art  and  stratagem  ;  the  other  mad 
dened  by  the  sense  of  treachery,  and  outrage,  and 
nerved  by  a  sense  of  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

It  reminds  one  of  the  fable  of  the  woodman,  who 
took  the  chilled  and  helpless  serpent  to  his  heart  and 
bosom,  but  to  revive  a  strength  which  was  to  be  ex 
erted  for  his  destruction.  Even  thus  the  Indian  took 
into  the  bosom  of  his  home  a  creature,  which  was  to 
rise  with  fresh  and  mighty  power,  to  coil  round  him  its 
swelling  folds,  and  thrust  at  him  its  hydra  head ;  to 
crush,  mangle,  and  destroy.  It  was  a  fearful  struggle — 
the  struggle  of  the  Laocoon — most  noble  though  it  was 
useless  and  fatal. 

There  is  something,  I  repeat,  most  touching  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  depart.  They  find  themselves 
powerless  —  utterly  unable  to  cope  with  their  enemies. 
To  remain  —  to  hover,  ghostlike,  over  the  remains  of 
their  kindred  —  to  live  in  bondage,  aye,  in  communi 
cation  with  their  conquerors,  is  degradation,  misery, 
and  worse  than  death.  But  they  must  go —  the  pale- 


156  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

face  shall  not  see  them  live  —  he  shall  not  see  them 
when  they  waste  and  die.  Then  comes  the  mournful 
question,  "  Can  the  bones  of  our  fathers  arise,  and  fol 
low  us  into  a  strange  land  ?  "  And  when  they  go,  the 
most  sorrowful  farewell  is  to  those  burial-grounds. 

There  is  a  Roman  greatness  in  this  —  the  greatness 
of  the  Caesar  who  mantled  his  face  that  none  might 
see  when  first  it  blenched,  and  when  the  last  convulsions 
passed  away.  Perhaps  there  is  something  very  favor 
able  to  the  red  man  in  the  distance  from  which  he  must 
be  viewed  —  his  Spartan  virtues,  his  wrongs,  his  fate, 
the  beautifully  figurative  style  in  which  his  sentiments 
are  uttered,  his  sense  of  his  injuries,  and  indignation 
at  his  enemies — in  all  of  this  there  is  something  wildly 
fascinating  in  the  page  of  history.  Whatever  would  to 
us  be  most  repulsive  —  his  domestic  habits,  his  social 
economy  —  is  seldom  detailed  there.  Yet  he  can  throw 
a  thrilling  interest  sometimes,  even  here.  An  Indian, 
seating  himself  upon  the  ground,  has  little  in  his  po 
sition  to  command  our  respect ;  but  how  are  our  feel 
ings  changed  when  he  says,  "  The  Sun  is  my  father — 
the  Earth  is  my  mother  —  I  will  recline  upon  her 
bosom." 

The  departure  of  that  dark  race  is  like  that  of  clouds, 
which  pass  away  before  the  morning  sun.  As  they 
rise  and  recede,  the  blackness  lessens ;  they  catch  new 
glories  from  the  orb  at  which  they  flee  ;  they  glow  in 
purple,  pink,  and  crimson  ;  they  are  tinged  with  gold  ; 
and  when  they  melt  in  the  far  horizon,  they  vanish  in 
beauty. 

And  is  it  not  a  touching  sight  when  some  faint  rem 
nant  of  that  cloud  comes  hovering  backward,  over  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  157 

scene  from  which  it  rose?  "I  know,"  says  Campbell, 
the  poet,  "of  no  sight  more  touching  than  that  of  the 
Indian,  who  returns  to  break  his  bow-string  over  the 
graves  of  his  fathers." 

But  our  portrait  has  been  suggestive  of  other,  though 
kindred  pictures  —  and,  Pocahontas,  have  we  been 
true  in  what  is  here  ascribed  to  thee?  A  historian 
says  of  her,  "  Our  whole  knowledge  of  her  is  confined 
to  a  few  brilliant  and  striking  incidents,  yet  there  is  in 
them  so  complete  a  consistency,  that  reason,  as  well  as 
imagination,  permits  us  to  construct  the  whole  charac 
ter  from  these  occasional  manifestations."  Even  in 
that  first  scene  when  she  is  introduced  to  us,  there  is  a 
manifestation  of  her  past  as  well  as  present  character. 
How  was  it  that  she,  a  girl  among  a  people  where 
woman  was  despised  —  how  became  she  the  favorite 
of  that  mighty  king  ?  that  savage  Bonaparte  —  and  a 
favorite  possessing  so  great  an  influence  ?  It  must  have 
been  the  magic  of  worth,  intellect,  and  affection,  work 
ing  on  that  stern  man's  heart,  through  her  whole  short 
life,  which  could  obtain  the  boon  he  granted  her.  They 
did  not  trifle  with  Pocahontas  —  they  did  not  promise 
the  white  man's  life,  and  thus  seduce  her  away,  that 
they  might  work  his  death  with  no  more  molestation. 
Powhatan  treated  her  not  as  a  child — but  as  a  woman. 
Aye,  there,  and  then,  she  was  treated  as  a  man. 

And  she  never  lessens  in  the  esteem  and  love  which 
she  at  first  inspired.  Her  sincerity,  firmness,  and  cour 
age  will  always  command  the  former ;  her  gentleness, 
compassion,  modesty,  and  strong  affection  will  ever  win 
the  latter.  Her  devotion  to  Christianity,  her  strong 
affection  for  Capt.  Smith,  her  love  for  John  Rolfe,  are 
14 


158  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

claims  upon  our  sympathies  as  Christians,  and  Yen- 
gese.  But  she  was  not  false  to  her  own  race.  They 
needed  not  her  efforts,  her  charities  —  they  were  then 
the  aggressors  —  the  murderers.  She  left  her  father 
because  she  could  not  witness  his  cruelty  and  treachery 
towards  that  feeble  band ;  and  when  she  was  taken, 
as  their  captive,  her  tears  could  only  be  restrained  by 
the  thought  that  thus  she  might  again  be  serviceable 
to  them. 

That  little  spot,  where  the  English  first  settled,  will 
ever  be  hallowed  by  thoughts  of  her.  The  moss-roofed 
church,  and  grass-grown  walls  of  that  old  fort,  will  be 
remembered  long  after  "  there  shall  not  be  left  one 
stone  upon  another,"  as  the  place  where  Rebecca  was 
baptized ;  where,  with  her  husband,  she  drank  from 
the  fountain  of  life :  and  where  her  love,  for  him  and 
his  people,  was  hallowed  by  that  piety  which  led  her 
to  choose  his  people  for  her  people,  his  God  for  her 
God ;  to  live,  die,  and  be  buried  among  his  kindred. 

The  departure  of  Pocahontas  for  England  was  to 
her  a  most  interesting  event.  That  country  was  the 
El  Dorado,  which  Fancy  loved,  yet  almost  failed  to 
portray.  How  strange  and  magical  must  that  old 
world  have  seemed  to  her ;  but  strangest  of  all,  most 
mysterious  of  all,  that  ties  of  love  must  there  he  sun 
dered  by  courtly  etiquette. 

She  must  not  call  Cap\  Smith  her  father  here,  be 
cause,  forsooth,  she  is  the  child  of  a  monarch,  and  he 
is  but  "  a  subject  of  that  realm."  The  Lady  Rebecca 
could  understand  the  superiority  of  the  English,  she 
could  perceive  the  resources  and  advantages  of  civili 
zation,  she  must  have  painfully  felt  her  ignorance  of 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GEN'lUS.  159 

what  they  so  much  valued,  but  she  could  not  under 
stand  their  mere  formalities ;  she  could  not  perceive 
the  advantages  of  Capt.  Smith's  cold  bearing.  She  had 
thought  him  dead  —  she  knew  not  otherwise  until  she 
met  him,  when  she  was  "  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land," 
even  as  he  had  been  in  the  home  of  her  fathers.  And 
here  the  man,  whose  life  she  saved,  must  meet  her  with 
a  formal  grace,  and  will  not  let  her  call  him  "  father." 
"  You  were  not  afraid,"  said  she  to  him,  "  to  come  in 
to  my  country,  and  strike  fear  into  every  one  but  me, 
but  here  you  are  afraid  to  let  me  call  you  father  —  but 
I  tell  you  that  I  will  call  you  father,  and  you  shall  call 
me  child ;  and  so  I  will  be  your  countryman  for  ever 
and  ever." 

The  man  who  had  gained  the  affections  of  women 
of  many  lands,  of  the  Russian,  the  Turk,  and  the 
French,  had  a  strong  hold  upon  the  heart  of  the  poor 
Indian.  Her  feelings  must  have  been  deeply  wounded, 
and  Capt.  Smith  did  not  repay  her  disinterested  love  as 
it  should  have  been  returned. 

True,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Queen  Anne,  commending 
to  her  notice  and  charity  this  lovely  daughter  of  the 
forest.  But,  even  in  this,  the  selfishness  and  avarice 
of  the  white  man  is  depicted.  He  speaks,  it  is  true, 
of  "this  tender  virgin,  whose  compassionate,  pitiful 
hand  had  oft  appeased  their  jars,  and  supplied  their 
wants;"  of  her  rejection  of  heathenism,  "being  the 
first  Christian  of  that  nation,  the  first  Virginian  that 
ever  spoke  English,  or  had  a  child  in  marriage  with  an 
Englishman;  a  matter  worthy  of  a  prince's  under 
standing."  He  also  speaks  of  her  exceeding  desert  — 
her  birth,  virtue,  and  simplicity,  and  of  "her  great 
spirit,  however  her  stature." 


160  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

But  this  is  not  why  he  particularly  recommends  her 
to  the  notice  of  the  queen.  It  is  because,  by  a  right 
conduct,  "  this  kingdom  may  have  a  kingdom,  by  her 
means  ;  "  whereas,  by  a  contrary  course,  "  her  present 
love  might  be  turned  to  scorn  and  fury,  and  divert  all 
this  good  to  the  worst  of  evil ;  but  if  she  should  find 
so  great  a  queen  do  her  more  honor  than  she  could 
imagine,  it  would  so  ravish  her  with  content  as  to  effect 
that  which  her  majesty  and  her  subjects  most  earnestly 
desire." 

And  this  was  the  reward  of  the  generous,  unselfish^ 
heroic  exertions  of  Pocahontas. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  disinterested  attentions,  the 
Lady  Rebecca  died  —  died  as  she  was  about  to  return 
to  the  land  of  her  fathers ;  to  exchange  the  wearisome 
formalities  of  courtly  life  for  the  unrestrained  enjoy 
ment  of  a  humble  home ;  as  she  was  hoping  to  look 
upon  her  father's  face  once  more,  and  to  lay  before  the 
aged  man  the  child  of  his  beloved  Rebecca. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  that  she  died  then ;  that  she  never 
lived  to  see  the  ascendancy  of  the  white  man  in  that 
western  home  ;  that  she  never  saw  the  kindred  of  her 
husband  ruling  where  once  her  father  held  sole  sway. 
There  must  have  been  struggles,  heart-aches,  and  self- 
questionings  which  would,  at  least,  have  marred  her 
happiness. 

In  that  island,  far  over  the  great  waters,  where  lie 
entombed  so  many  of  the  good,  the  brave,  and  royal, 
rest  also  the  remains  of  the  first,  and,  as  yet,  the  last, 
distinguished  princess  of  America. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  161 


Nos.  II.  &  III.     CLEOPATRA,  AND  ZENOBIA. 

TURNING  from  the  slender  form  of  the  Indian  princess, 
all  destitute  as  it  appears  of  any  exterior  mark  of  roy 
alty,  it  is  dazzling  to  look  upon  these  queens  of  the 
East.  Cleopatra  and  Zenobia,  though  differing  in  their 
character,  nation,  and  exploits,  yet  seem  united  in  our 
sympathies  by  some  similarity  of  personal  graces,  and 
by  their  tragical  fate.  In  the  persons  of  these  beauti 
ful,  and  accomplished,  oriental  females,  have  been  con 
centrated  more  of  wealth,  splendor,  pomp,  and  ele 
gance,  of  all  that  can  seduce  the  senses,  than  will  ever 
be  witnessed  again.  They  may  be  considered  the  im 
personations  of  femab  sovereignty  ;  the  proof  of  what 
woman  will  do  when  she  is  ivoman,  and  uninfluenced 
by  any  circumstances  but  those  of  her  own  creation. 
They  looked  not  back  upon  the  past,  for  precedents, 
for  they  were  among  the  first  to  rule  their  kingdoms 
with  a  woman's  sway;  they  looked  not  around  them 
for  example,  support,  or  sympathy,  for  they  were  too 
far  removed  from  all  contemporaries  to  avail  themselves 
of  auglit  of  these ;  and  mayhap  they  looked  not  for 
ward,  to  the  future,  for  applause,  approval,  and  a  post 
humous  fame.  The  institutions,  and  religions  of  their 
clime,  and  age,  were  rather  adverse  than  favorable  to 
the  developement  of  characters  like  theirs,  and  could 
not  exert  an  influence  corresponding  to  the  modifications 
they  received  in  return.  They  were  women ;  acting 
with  woman's  impulses,  and  strengthened  by  a  wo 
man's  will. 

Hence  their  reigns,  while  they  were  rulers,  were 
14* 


162  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

like  a  splendid  triumph;  one  long-extended  show  of 
riches,  pomp,  and  grace ;  a  dazzling  display  of  the 
wealth  of  the  Orient,  as  exhibited  with  the  utmost  ele 
gance  and  taste.  They  lived  in  the  present,  surround 
ing  themselves  with  the  rare,  the  costly,  and  the 
beautiful,  and  it  is  the  remembrance  of  what  they 
were  then,  rather  than  an  indelible  impression  stamped 
upon  their  kind,  that  wins  a  place  in  every  portrait 
gallery,  whether  of  painter,  sculptor,  poet,  or  historian. 
It  is  in  early  morning  that  the  clouds  are  pink,  and 
purple,  and  gold ;  that  earth  puts  on  her  diamond  robe, 
and  flowers  send  up  their  sweetest  incense,  and  every 
shrub,  and  tree,  and  grove,  is  studded  with  its  varied 
jewelry  :  but  it  is  not  then  that  the  shrub  sends  forth 
its  shoots  ;  that  the  grass  is  preparing  its  blade  for  the 
mower,  or  the  seed-vessel  ripening  for  the  harvest. 
The  glittering  and  beautiful  are  sometimes  allied  with 
the  enduring  and  useful,  but  seldom  in  the  history  of 
nations,  or  their  rulers. 

Here  is  the  Egyptian  Queen,  as  portrayed  by  the 
master-poet ;  and  was  there  ever,  before,  so  enchanting 
a  union  of  splendor  and  grace  ?  Royalty  is  behind 
her ;  a  ruler  awaits  her  coming ;  and  idolatrous  wor 
ship  is  all  around  her. 

"  The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnished  throne, 
Burned  on  the  water  :   the  stern  was  beaten  gold  : 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed  that 
The  winds  were  lovesick  with  them  ;  the  oars  were  silver, 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
The  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster, 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes.     For  her  own  person, 
It  beggared  all  description  :  she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion  (cloth  of  gold,  of  tissue) 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  163 

O'er-picturing  that  Venus,  where  we  see, 
The  fancy  out-work  nature  :  on  each  side  her, 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  diverse-colored  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheek  which  they  did  cool, — 
Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides. 
So  many  mermaids,  tended  her  i'  the  eyes, 
And  made  their  bends  adorning  :  at  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers  ;  the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands, 
That  yaiely  frame  the  office.     From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  perfume  hits  the  sense 
Of  the  adjacent  wharves.     The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her  ;  and  Antony, 
Enthroned  in  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Whistling  to  the  air  ;  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too, 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature." 

Such  was  this  fascinating  sovereign,  this  syren  queen, 
conquering  by  subduing  ;  appealing  wholly  to  the  sen 
ses  ;  binding,  with  her  magic  spell,  the  reason,  awaken 
ing  the  fancy,  and  enlivening  the  imagination,  by  her 
consummate  arts  and  graces.  Such  was  she,  as  she 
took  such  pains  to  appear  to  "Noble  Antony,"  the 
triumvir  of  Rome,  and,  by  such  arts,  to  be  converted 
to  a  slave  of  "  Egypt." 

There  never  yet  was  queen  who  effected  so  much  by 
female  tact,  and  blandishment,  as  Cleopatra.  It  was 
not  alone  by  her  superior  intellect,  but  by  her  captiva 
ting  powers,  that  she  won  that  then  unwonted  place 
for  one  of  her  weak  sex,  a  seat  upon  her  father's  throne  ; 
a  divided  power  with  Ptolemy,  her  brother.  With  any 
other  partner  his  deficiencies  might  not  have  ever  glar 
ingly  appeared ;  but  with  the  lovely  girl,  who,  even 


164  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

then,  was  versed  in  all  of  feminine  accomplishments, 
who  was  also  learned  in  Grecian  lore,  who  could  hold 
audience,  herself,  with  the  representatives  of  ten  dif 
ferent  countries,  who  so  charmingly  united  vivacity 
and  grace,  mental  activity  with  girlish  languishment, 
who  had  a  talent,  all  her  own,  to  mould  so  many  to 
her  will,  contrasted  with  his  sister,  young  Ptolemy  was 
not  a  monarch. 

The  pageant  and  insignia  of  royalty  were  too  pleas 
ing,  too  necessary  to  Cleopatra,  for  the  developement 
of  her  peculiar  powers,  for  her  to  remain  a  second  to 
one  so  much  inferior.  That  she  was  devoid  of  sisterly 
affection,  is  not  probable,  when  she  would  so  readily 
yield  to  other"  love,  but  no  passion  in  her  was  superior 
to  ambition.  There  are  always  friends  to  justice,  and 
foes  to  beauty,  intellect,  and  fortune.  Cleopatra  did 
not  usurp  ascendency  without  opposition.  She  was 
always  brave  when  mental  courage  only  was  required, 
and  resolved  to  submit  to  no  dictation.  Then,  when 
her  country  was  convulsed  with  factions,  and  Rome 
was  called  upon  to  decide  between  the  rival  kindred, 
then,  for  the  first  time,  did  she  show  to  what  she  could 
descend,  as  she  had  shown  before  to  what  she  would 
aspire.  Gaining  by  stratagem  an  audience  with  Csesar, 
she  disarmed  him  of  all  the  qualifications  of  an  impar 
tial  judge,  by  transforming  him  into  a  lover.  From 
that  time  until  the  murmurs  of  his  indignant  soldiery, 
penetrating  even  the  palace  of  the  luxurious  queen, 
aroused  him  from  the  enchanting  dream,  was  the  great 
Roman  the  slave  of  the  Egyptian  girl.  It  was  by  con 
tributing  to  his  pleasure  that  she  preserved  her  own 
power,  and  gained  a  mastery  over  the  master  of  the 
world. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  165 

But  when  he  was  gone,  and  there  was  nought  for 
her  to  do  but  to  "rule  over  Egypt,"  she  did  it  wisely 
and  well.  Her  country  prospered,  and  she  could  read 
in  the  magnificence  to  which  she  trusted,  much  to  pre 
serve  her  influence  over  her  people. 

With  the  diadem  of  Isis  on  her  brow,  and  the  robe 
of  the  goddess  encircling  her  form,  it  is  not  wonderful 
that,  with  her  grace,  and  accomplishments,  she  should 
retain  the  adoration  of  subjects,  whose  regard  was 
never  excited  by  sterner  attributes.  Then  came  Pom- 
pey,  and  then  another  brave  Roman  owned  the  magic 
of  the  Egyptian's  sway.  But  we  have  portrayed  her 
as  she  first  was  seen  by  stern  Mark  Antony,  the  rough 
warrior,  the  hard  Roman,  and  truly  did  it  need  seduc 
tions,  such  as  hers,  to  subdue  the  man,  whose  pulses 
long  had  ceased  to  beat  to  the  quick  impulses  of  youth. 
Cleopatra  did  not  exert  her  powers  in  vain,  and  again 
was  a  Roman  leader  bewitched  by  the  sorceries  of  this 
syren.  The  spell  was  long  and  strong  upon  him,  and 
never  broken;  but  once  Mark  Antony  aroused  from 
slumber.  The  dream  was  lurking  in  his  brain,  even 
when,  in  distant  Rome,  he  made  the  lovely,  modest 
and  virtuous  Octavia  his  bride.  One  would  think  that, 
with  so  pure  a  cup  of  happiness  at  his  lips,  he  would 
never  have  turned  again  to  the  intoxicating  draught. 
And  one  might  think  it  strange  that  she  could  conde 
scend  to  drink  again  at  the  bowl  of  pleasure,  with  him. 
From  the  time  of  their  union,  when  he  forgot  his  duty 
to  himself,  to  his  country,  his  noble  brother-in-law,  and 
wife,  to  revel  in  luxury  with  her,  who  forgot  the  dig 
nity  of  a  woman  and  queen,  to  join  with  him  in 
revelry  — from  that  moment  there  are  darker  shadows, 


166  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

on  the  shifting  scenes,  than  heretofore  have  mingled 
with  the  dazzling  lights.  But  when  Mark  Antony  rose 
from  his  syren's  arms,  to  meet  the  just  avenger,  when 
Octavius  and  Antony  were  to  decide,  in  blood  and  bat 
tle,  whether  his  duties  were  to  be  abandoned,  and  the 
rights  of  others  outraged,  with  impunity :  then  Cleo 
patra  showed,  as  she  had  shown  before,  that  she  could 
share  the  trial  with  those  who  shared  her  pleasure ; 
that  she  would  not  abandon  in  the  storm  those  with 
whom  she  had  basked  in  the  sunshine.  She  brought 
forces  to  her  lover ;  she  brought  him  ships  and  men  ; 
for  she  could  remember  that  he  had  given  her  kingdoms 
and  crowns.  If  she  had  kept  aloof  from  the  combat 
her  cause  must  have  been  the  gainer,  if  not  Mark  An 
tony  the  victor.  It  was  not  courage  that  led  her  to  the 
battle-ship.  It  was  dread — it  was  that  craven  fear 
which  could  not  allow  her  protector  from  her  sight ; 
which  could  not  wait,  and  meet  her  fate  alone.  But 
her  physical  timidity  overcame  her  mental  powers,  and 
"  in  the  midst  of  the  fight,  when  vantage,  like  a  pair 
of  twins,  appeared,"  she  fled,  and  "Antony  flies  after 
her,"  — 

"  Experience,  manhood,  honor,  ne'er  before 
Did  violate  so  itself." 

Cleopatra  loved  Mark  Antony,  with  all  the  love  her 
heart  could  feel ;  and  even  in  the  midst  t)f  her  shame, 
anguish,  and  fear  of  impending  ruin,  there  was  some 
little  consolation  in  the  assurance  that  he  too  loved  her, 
as  well  as  he  could  love  —  that  though  Octavia  lived, 
and  one  was  in  her  grave,  his  "  serpent  of.  old  Nile" 
could  spread  her  wile  around  him  still.  Now  she 
knew  that  there  was  strength  in  her  flower- wreathed 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  167 

chains,  and  that  it  was  not  all  hyperbole  when  he 
said 

"  Thou  knewest  too  well 

My  heart  was  to  thy  rudder  tied,  by  the  strings, 
And  thou  should'st  tow  me  after  ;  o'er  my  spirit 
Thy  full  supremacy  thou  knewest :  and  that 
Thy  beck  might,  from  the  bidding  of  the  gods, 
Command  me." 

Cleopatra  never  could  win  respect,  even  in  her  days 
of  comparative  innocence,  but  in  these  last  sad  scenes 
we  cannot  wholly  refuse  our  admiring  sympathy. 
True,  as  danger  thickened,  and  ruin  pressed  upon 
them,  she  gave  herself  up  to  excess  of  pleasure;  but 
she  was  not  wholly  selfish,  and  she  and  Antony  were 
two  of  a  band  u  united  in  death."  True,  there  was 
loud  mirth,  and  gay  revelry,  at  Antony's  birthday 
feast,  but  her  own  she  kept  in  silence  and  sadness  — 
true,  as  the  fatal  tragedy  drew  near  its  close,  she  fled 
to  an  asylum,  which  she  knew  could  afford  no  safety 
to  him ;  but  when  the  doom,  he  could  not  long  avert, 
was  hastened  by  his  own  hand,  and  in  the  belief  of 
her  death,  she  did  not  refuse  him  the  privilege  of  dying 
near  her.  With  her  own  hands,  the  "hands  which 
kings  had  trembled  kissing,"  all  distended,  and  con 
vulsed  with  the  exertion,  she  helped  to  draw  the  dying 
man  into  her  tower ;  she  wiped  the  death-damp  from 
his  brow,  and  kissed  his  quivering  lips,  and  received 
his  latest  breath  upon  her  own.  True,  she  conde 
scended  to  ask  favors  of  Octavius,  but  it  was  that  she 
might  bury  Antony  with  honor,  and  that  Egypt,  the 
patrimony  of  her  father,  might  be  given  to  her  children. 
True,  she  sought  death,  but  it  was  as  a  relief  from 


168  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

ignominy.  She,  who  had  hoped  to  reign  in  Rome,  and 
be  acknowledged  mistress  of  the  world,  may  be  ex 
cused  if  she  shrank  from  being  there  exhibited  as  a 
captive. 

The  asp  had  done  its  poisonous  work,  when  the  Ro 
man  burst  into  the  chamber  of  death ;  but  the  crown 
was  then  upon  her  head,  and  the  royal  robes  lay  in 
rich  folds  upon  her  stiffening  form.  One  handmaid 
lay  already  dead  at  her  feet  —  another  was  dying, 
while  arranging  the  diadem  upon  her  brow.  Can  we 
not  agree  with  her  in  her  answer  to  the  Roman's  ques 
tion. —  "  Charmian,  was  this  well  done?"  "Yes, 
Roman  !  it  was  well  —  for  such  a  death  was  meet  for 
such  a  queen." 

We  should  not  judge  this  ancient  heathen  queen  by 
those  pure  rules,  that  high  standard,  which  should 
govern  the  actions  of  a  Christian  matron.  We  always 
do  injustice  to  any  person,  by  taking  them  from  their 
age  and  country,  and  judging  them  by  the  rules  of 
right  and  wrong  which  are  the  standard  of  another. 
Cleopatra  was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  women, 
and  she  did  —  what  women  are  always  wont  to  do  — 
she  exerted  the  power  she  possessed.  She  was  the 
unwedded  wife  of  Caesar,  Pompey,  and  Mark  Antony, 
but  her  favors  were  not  bestowed  upon  inferiors,  and 
to  two,  at  least,  she  was  faithful  till  death  —  to  all  she 
awarded  the  constancy  they  deserved. 

Educated,  as  she  was,  in  a  corrupt  court,  with  no 
good  guide,  and  no  true  faith,  who  can  tell  to  what, 
under  other  influences,  her  superior  talents,  and  fas 
cinating  powers,  might  have  been  directed  ? 

As  she  is,  she  stands  one  by  herself —  and  to  be 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  109 

judged  by  no  laws,  but  those  which  are  common  to  all 
mankind.  In  the  long  line  of  Egyptian  sovereigns 
she  is  as  a  fairy  in  some  old  gallery  of  armored  statues, 
fixing  the  attention  of  all  by  her  bewitching  loveli 
ness  ;  though  among  them  seeming  to  be  not  of  them, 
and  leading  the  beholder  to  doubt  whether  she  be,  in 
deed,  a  vision,  or  reality. 

It  is  pleasant  to  turn,  from  Cleopatra,  to  Zenobia, 
the  Queen  of  Palmyra.  Her  character  is  of  a  higher 
order,  and,  though  she  may  not  interest  us  more,  yet 
she  interests  our  better  feelings ;  there  is  more  to  ad 
mire,  and  our  admiration  is  not  mingled  with  so  much 
of  disapprobation,  and  with  nought  of  contempt.  In 
her  there  was  less  of  sorcery,  but  more,  far  more,  of 
true  talent,  genius,  and  energy.  If  she  did  not  capti 
vate  so  readily,  it  must  have  been  because  she  dis 
dained  exertions  to  win.  With  more  of  personal  beauty 
than  the  Egyptian,  with  more  accomplishments,  and 
true  refinement,  she  lacked  no  less  native  grace  and 
fascination.  But  she  could  not  stoop  to  artifice ;  she 
could  not  bend  herself  to  the  tastes  of  the  rude  and 
sensual.  She  was  severely  virtuous,  in  the  limited 
sense  of  the  term,  if  not  in  every  sense.  She  was 
magnificent,  dazzling,  and  ambitious;  she  wished  not 
only  to  be  a  queen,  but  to  do  something,  which  might 
make  good  her  claim  to  royalty.  If  portrayed  as  she 
oft  appeared  to  her  contemporaries,  and  would  wish  to 
appear  to  posterity,  it  would  not  be  reclining  in  volup 
tuous  ease,  with  the  chaplet  of  a  goddess  on  her  brow, 
with  Cupids,  Nereides,  and  Sylphides  at  her  side,  with 
the  melody  of  flutes,  and  the  ripple  of  waters  stealing 
15 


170  SHELLS    FROM    THE    STRAND 

on  the  perfumed  breezes  —  O,  no  —  here  she  is  with  a 
helmet  on  her  head,  with  burnished  armor  glittering 
o'er  her  frame,  with  the  battle-lance  poised  gracefully 
in  her  hand,  and  her  stately  war-horse  prancing 
proudly  beneath  his  royal  burden ;  while  the  fires  of 
a  daring  spirit,  and  the  softer  emotions  of  an  affection 
ate  heart,  are  mingled  in  her  "  divinely  expressive 
eyes."  Her  soft  dark  locks,  escaping  from  the  iron 
circlet,  are  floating  on  the  breeze ;  and  the  enchanting 
smile,  which  parts  her  mouth,  shows  the  teeth  which 
were  almost  believed  to  be  pearls.  Around  her  are  the 
Syrian,  the  Greek,  the  Roman,  the  Egyptian,  the  Arab, 
and  the  native  Palmyrene ;  and  these  discordant  troops 
are  resolved  into  one  mighty  indivisible  force  by  the 
magic  of  her  smiles  and  frowns. 

In  the  distance  is  faintly  discerned  an  advancing 
foe.  Afar,  through  the  thin  blue  haze,  which  lightly 
rests  upon  the  desert,  is  seen  the  mighty  caravan, 
which  breaks  the  monotonous  profile  of  the  level  waste. 
As  the  long  columns  emerge  from  the  boundary  of  land 
and  sky,  each  warrior's  form  increases  in  size,  and  as 
sumes  a  more  formidable  aspect.  At  their  head  is 
Aurelian,  the  stern  and  mighty  Emperor  of  Rome,  the 
conqueror  of  savage  Goths,  and  ruler  of  tumultuous 
Italians.  There  is  the  strong,  vindictive  Aurelian,  op 
posing  his  talents  and  energies  to  an  Oriental  female. 
No  wonder  that,  spite  of  the  terror  of  his  name,  the 
prowess  of  his  arm,  the  vastness  of  his  resources,  and 
the  almost  hopelessness  of  the  struggle  —  no  wonder 
that  thousands  resolved  to  confront  with  her  the  com 
mander  of  Roman  legions.  That  sweet,  though  pow 
erful  voice,  falls  on  their  ears  like  the  notes  of  the 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  171 

silver  clarion,  and  every  heart  beats  high  with  fearless 
enthusiasm. 

And  there  is  Palmyra,  "  the  city  of  Palms,"  reflect 
ing  from  its  long  lines  of  pure  white  columns  the  fiery 
rays  of  an  Eastern  sun,  while  the  thousand  shadows 
of  bending  trees,  and  the  glittering  spray  from  hun 
dreds  of  jutting  fountains,  mingle  in  strong  contrast 
with  the  rich  soft  flood  of  sunshine. 

There  are  graceful  forms,  arrayed  in  rich  costume, 
threading  those  straight  and  wide-paved  streets  —  fe 
males,  in  gay  aerial  drapery,  are  stealing  through  the 
miles  of  sculptured  colonnade — there  is  beauty,  wealth, 
and  every  where  the  visible  effects  of  a  wonderful  taste, 
which  could  change  the  details  of  every-day  life  into 
the  semblance  of  a  fete-day  gala.  O,  why  can  they 
not  be  permitted  to  remain  in  peace,  in  the  magnificent 
city  which  -they  have  raised  from  the  arid  desert ;  and 
to  luxuriate  in  the  wealth  and  loveliness  which  they 
have  created,  from  resources  which  interfered  not  with 
the  rights  and  privileges  of  any  nation,  unless  it  were, 
indeed,  the  right  and  privilege  of  Rome  to  rule  the 
world.  Light  hearts  grew  heavy,  and  bright  eyes  grew 
dim,  as  the  fierce  siege  was  pressed  —  but  still  those 
eyes  could  flash  with  brilliance,  and  those  hearts  were 
relieved  of  much  of  their  sadness  when  near  their 
queen.  Fierce  spirits  softened,  as  her  tones  of  gentle 
ness  fell  on  their  ears,  but  their  wild  enthusiasm  could 
not  be  repressed  when  that  sweet  voice  aroused  them 
to  vengeance,  patriotism,  and  strife.  Her  Arab  bands, 
like  the  fierce  tornado  of  their  own  deserts,  swept  by 
the  foemen's  camp,  and  swift  and  sure  as  the  light 
ning's  scathe  was  the  mark  they  left  behind.  But 


172  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

though  Palmyra  had  bravery,  enthusiasm,  and  a  queen 
who  could  mould  all  passions  to  her  will,  and  avail 
herself  of  every  resource  she  possessed,  yet  her  re 
sources  were  not  comparable  to  those  of  the  Emperor. 
Every  energy  of  that  great  warrior  was  bent  upon  the 
subjugation  of  Zenobia.  He  was  resolved  that  there 
should  be  no  "Augusta  of  the  East,"  that  the  purple 
robe  should  not  envelope  the  limbs  of  a  Palmyrene. 
And  though  the  satirists  of  Rome  laughed  their  Em 
peror  to  scorn,  as  one  who  waged  ignoble  war,  yet  he 
was  a  far  better  judge  of  the  military  genius  of  Zeno 
bia,  and  the  glory  to  be  won  by  a  trial  at  arms  with 
her,  than  were  the  poets.  To  him  it  seemed  far  more 
ignominious  to  permit  one  independent  sovereign  to 
rule  her  kingdom,  unawed,  and  unopposed,  than  to 
crush  it  by  brutal  force.  She  had  defied  him  also ; 
she  had  questioned  his  ability  to  take  what  he  had 
been  so  arrogant  as  to  demand.  "  Those  who  laugh  at 
me,"  said  he,  "  know  little  of  this  woman;  they  speak 
too  as  though  Zenobia  opposed  me  with  her  single 
arm." 

Though  the  arm  of  Zenobia  could  never  have  di 
rected  those  awful  engines,  with  which,  from  the  walls 
of  Palmyra,  were  scattered  death  and  destruction,  yet 
it  was  she  who  nerved  the  arms  which  might  wield 
them  for  her.  Though  her  jewelled  armor,  and  glit 
tering  helmet,  could  slightly  protect  her  from  the  Ro 
man,  yet  the  lights  which  glittered  over  them  were 
reflected  back  from  thousands  of  burning  eyes,  and 
the  sight  of  her  infused  new  strength  into  her  deter 
mined  supporters. 

But  all  their  zeal,  courage,  and  loyalty  to  her  were 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  173 

of  little  avail  against  the  determined  and  vindictive 
Emperor.  And  when  Zenobia's  last  noble  and  heroic 
effort,  in  behalf  of  Palmyra,  resulted  in  her  own  cap 
tivity,  the  knowledge  of  that  event  fell  like  a  paralysis 
upon  her  noble-hearted  people. 

Had  she  possessed  the  artful  qualities  of  Cleopatra- 
could  she  have  descended  to  the  degrading  efforts  by 
which  the  Egyptian  Queen  seduced  a  Roman  Emperor, 
no  doubt  the  savage  Aurelian  could  as  easily  have 
been  transformed  into  a  gallant  lover,  as  Csesar,  or 
Mark  Antony.  But  though  a  conquered  sovereign, 
she  was  still  a  Queen  —  not  one  born  beneath  the 
shadow  of  a  throne,  and  nurtured  in  a  palace,  but  one 
to  whom  the  true  insignia  of  royalty  had  been  granted 
by  Nature;  and  to  her  alone  she  was  indebted.  "Thou, 
who  hast  conquered,  do  I  acknowledge  my  sovereign," 
said  she  with  a  subdued  dignity  which  could  ennoble 
a  captive.  Her  modest,  though  self-respectful  deport 
ment,  could  even  impress  the  enraged  Aurelian.  The 
blood  for  which  his  worn  soldiers  thirsted  and  suppli 
cated,  he  permitted  not  to  stain  his  sword.  The  life, 
which  had  caused  the  death  of  many  of  his  tried  war 
riors,  was  not  taken  as  a  ransom  for  theirs.  Zenobia 
was  permitted  to  live.  Alas  !  that  one  other  as  dear 
to  posterity  should  have  been  sacrificed  for  his  devotion 
to  her. 

But  Palmyra  must  feel  the  vengeance  of  the  aggressor. 
That  city  of  enchantment,  which  had  almost  sprung 
into  existence  at  her  command,  and  blossomed,  even  in 
the  desert,  beneath  her  smile:  that  city  must  be  doomed 
to  expiate,  in  blood  and  ashes,  the  sin  of  opposing 
Rome. 

15* 


174  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Hundreds  of  years  have  passed  away,  but  they  have 
found  and  left  it  desolate.  The  sirocco  of  Arabia  has 
borne  its  sand  clouds  over  it,  or  buried  its  columns 
beneath  their  shifting  shroud.  The  sun  has  poured  his 
unbroken  rays  upon  its  ruined  temple,  for  thousands  of 
cloudless  days,  but  no  incense  has  gone  up  from  the 
deserted  altars ;  from  thence  no  voice  of  praise  shall 
ever  greet  his  rising.  The  long  unbroken  lines  of 
snowy  colonnade  still  lift  their  slender  pillars  to  the 
skies,  but  every  shaft  is  now  an  obelisk.  Desolation 
triumphs,  where  once  Zenobia  reigned  —  Zenobia, 
which  then  was  but  another  name  for  graceful  mirth, 
for  refined  magnificence,  for  warm  affections,  and  noble 
aspirations. 

Yet  Zenobia  was  but  an  Arab  —  her  father  the  chief 
of  a  desert  tribe ;  and  her  lofty  spirit  was  nurtured 
amid  the  free  winds,  beneath  the  cloudless  skies,  and 
under  the  fearless  influences  of  Arabia.  To  be  "a 
patient  household  drudge  "  had  been  her  lot,  if  even 
her  transcendant  beauty  had  been  unmingled  with  a 
worthy  spirit.  But,  for  once,  the  casket  was  but  a 
fitting  shrine  for  the  priceless  jewel,  and,  for  once,  an 
Oriental  maid  is  to  assert  even  her  claims  to  mental 
superiority.  When  death  had  freed  her  from  the  master 
to  whom  her  girlhood  had  been  sold,  she  became  the 
wife  of  Odenatus,  a  chief  of  Palmyra  —  then  but  a 
mighty  caravanserai,  the  resort  of  the  merchant  and 
pilgrim,  though  still  hallowed  by  the  remembrance  of 
him  who  first  dedicated  its  pure  springs  to  the  service 
of  the  stranger,  and  trafficker.  Hallowed  it  now  is, 
throughout  the  East,  by  the  recollection  of  him  who  is 
still  remembered  as  the  wisest  '/nan,  and  who  built 
••  Tadmor  in  the  desert." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  175 

But  though  Zenobia  could  ride  to  battle  by  her  hus 
band's  side  —  though  she  could  even  instruct  him  how 
to  war  with  the  old  monarchies  of  that  old  world,  yet 
she  had  tastes  for  higher  and  more  congenial  pursuits ; 
tastes  which  needed  but  opportunities  for  develop 
ment,  and  the  wealth  which  conquests  could  bestow  — 
which  needed  but  these  to  change  the  brilliant  dreams 
of  a  lovely  woman  to  beautiful  and  enduring  realities. 

The  transient  encampment  become  a  city  of  temples, 
palaces,  fountains,  gardens,  and  porticoes,  which  war 
and  time  have  not  been  able  wholly  to  destroy. 

The  nations  of  the  Orient  bowed  to  the  sceptre  of 
Palmyra,  and  hailed  its  mistress  as  their  Queen.  And 
when  she  raised,  alone,  the  standard  of  the  murdered 
Odenatus,  it  needed  but  that  single  arm  to  move  them 
on  to  victory.  Different  nations  resolved  into  one 
mighty  people  beneath  her  rule,  and  warriors  of  many 
climes  pressed  under  her  banners.  The  Greek  came 
with  poetry,  philosophy,  and  the  arts ;  the  Arab  came 
with  burning  zeal,  with  eloquence,  fiction,  and  song; 
the  Roman,  with  his  stern  bravery,  and  severe  taste ; 
the  Syrian,  with  his  love  of  splendor,  show,  and  Ori 
ental  ceremonial ;  all  united  with  the  graceful,  light- 
hearted,  genuine  Palmyrene  in  affection,  patriotism, 
and  devotion.  Her  sceptre  seemed  a  magic  wand, 
which  transformed  these  discordant  bands  into  a  united 
family  of  brothers. 

And  she  too  was  changing  —  she  sat  at  the  feet  of 
the  noblest  spirit  of  the  age,  and  drank  at  the  purest 
fount  of  intellect.  From  the  Roman  she  learned  to 
discipline  her  armies ;  from  the  Egyptian,  to  mingle 
solidity  with  the  airy  fancies  of  her  architects ;  from 


176  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

the  Persian,  to  dazzle  with  gorgeous  show,  and  banquet 
with  queenly  pomp :  but  of  the  Greek  she  learned  to 
enrich  the  mind,  of  Longinus  she  learned  to  rule  her 
spirit,  to  support  prosperity,  and  prepare  for  adversity. 
She  learned  to  avail  herself  of  sources  of  happiness, 
and  true  grandeur,  of  which  even  that  terrible  reverse 
could  not  deprive  her.  And  over  all  these  accomplish 
ments,  these  lofty  attainments,  were  ever  resting  those 
native  and  peculiar  graces,  which  signalized  her  from 
all  others,  and  constituted  the  charm  of  the  Palmyrene. 
And  all  she  did  was  done  so  quickly  —  not  more  than 
half  a  score  of  years  elapsed,  from  the  time  she  was 
sole  sovereign,  ere  she  was  a  captive.  What  noble 
trophies  might  she  have  left  behind,  had  life  and  peace 
been  hers.  u  I  would. :;  said  she.  as  she  sat  with  her 
purple  robe  clasped  with  brilliants  to  her  \vaist.  and 
her  bare  arm  raised,  with  the  innate  consciousness  of 
mental  strength — UI  would,  indeed,  that  the  world 
were  mine,  and  feel  within  the  power  to  bless  it  were 
it  so.'' 

But  even  her  world  was  not  to  be  spared  —  the  little 
world  which  she  had  created,  and  which  proudly 
owned  her  as  its  sovereign.  It  may  be  that  in  her 
researches  into  the  history  of  nations,  and  rulers  who 
were  gone,  she  had  prepared  for  a  downfall,  which  was 
possible  —  that  she  had  schooled  her  own  proud  spirit 
to  bear  calmly  with  injury  and  oppression. 

Even  in  her  days  of  joyous  pride  and  strength,  she 
had  studied  the  past :  she  had  drawn  up,  for  her  own 
use  and  advantage,  a  history  of  the  times  which  had 
gone;  and  could  those  annals  have  survived  to  coming 
generations,  perhaps,  as  a  literary  work,  this  specimen. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  177 

of  the  first  female  historian,  might  not  have  compared 
unworthily,  with  the  memento  of  that  latest  one,  who 
was  laid  the  first  to  rest  in  our  own  Mount  Auburn. 

And  yet  the  attainments  of  a  faithful  narrator,  seem 
almost  at  variance  with  the  othef  accomplishments  and 
occupations  of  Zenobia. 

But  when  we  leave  her  as  a  fallen  Queen,  we  also 
resign  the  lovely  woman,  and  talented  historian.  Her 
last  appearance  on  the  page  of  history,  when,  with 
unsandalled  feet,  and  fettered  limbs,  she  walked  before 
that  splendid  chariot,  in  which  she  had  vaunted  she 
would  enter  Rome ;  when  she  was  exhibited  in  that 
long  procession,  which  might,  perhaps,  have  been  ll  a 
triumph  "  to  Aurelian  —  this  last  sad  scene  is  the  close 
of  the  fitful  drama.  Though,  in  the  brilliant  constella 
tion  of  the  past,  she  is  more  like  a  meteor,  than  "  a 
bright  enduring  star,"  yet  she  hath  left  a  remembrance 
which  cannot  vanish  from  the  earth. 

"  Queen  of  the  Desert !  in  that  name  there  seems  a  thrilling  spell  ; 
It  floats  across  the  poet's  heart,  like  a  mighty  trumpet's  swell : 
I  see  a  countless  multitude  in  flowing  robes  arrayed  ; 
I  see  the  glittering  scimetars,  and  the  banners  broad  displayed  ; 
I  see  the  horses,  black  as  death,  with  long  manes  flowing  wide, 
And  hoofs  that  spurn  the  burning  sand,  in  their  tameless  power  and  pride  ; 
I  hear  the  wild  horn  shrilly  blown,  I  hear  the  cymbals  clash, 
And,  with  a  shout,  I  see  the  troops  to  the  fearful  conflict  dash, 
Each  horseman  striving  for  the  prize, —  smiles  and  approval  won 
From  her  who  bade  the  pageant  be, —  a  peerless  Amazon. 

"  Queen  of  the  Desert!  at  the  words  another  dream  is  framed, 
A  stately  woman  sits  enthroned,  Queen  of  the  waste  proclaimed  ; 
Her  palace  riseth  proudly  up  midst  deserts  bare  and  old, 
And  her  presence  chamber  doth  display  '  barbaric  pearl  and  gold  ; ' 
Her  maidens,  gathered  from  the  world,  like  flowers  from  many  a  land, 
With  silver-woven  veils,  behind  and  round  her  footstool  stand  ; 


178 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


She  only  with  uncovered  brow,  and  an  unquailing  eye, 

Beholds  when  loyal  subjects  wave  the  flashing  sabre  high  ; 

She  only  sits,  unlrembling,  with  calm  majestic  mien, 

While  turban'd  thousands  bend  the  knee  to  hail  the  Desert  Queen." 

Zenobia  long  survived  the  wreck  of  her  kingdom, 
and  power.  Had  she  yielded  life,  when  all  else  was 
taken,  this  total  dissolution  of  the  majesty  of  Palmyra 
must  have  claimed  the  notice  of  the  historian.  But 
his  unbroken  silence  is  like  a  deep  earnest  voice  in  her 
favor.  Though  she  walked  a  living  monument  of 
Aurelian's  prowess,  with  golden  chains  upon  her  arms, 
where  Cleopatra,  her  predecessor,  if  not  her  ancestor, 
was  carried  in  effigy,  with  the  golden  asp  upon  her 
breast,  yet  even  his  vindictive  triumph  could  not  de 
grade  her.  It  was  a  saying  of  Longinus,  that  "noth 
ing  is  truly  great  which  it  is  noble  to  despise,"  and 
when  his  teachings  came  back  to  her,  like  a  solemn 
echo  from  the  tombs,  when  the  light,  which  had  shone 
upon  her  in  the  palace,  streamed  full  into  her  prison, 
divested  of  its  former  dazzling  glare,  then  she  would 
see  how  great  was  its  brightness.  Her  proud  spirit 
was  never  crushed,  or  she  would  have  striven  for  a 
secondary  reputation,  in  "  The  Eternal  City:  "  but  in 
the  sanctity  of  her  deep  retirement,  she  must  have 
cherished  truer  and  nobler  views,  of  the  true  destiny 
of  man,  of  the  worthlessness  of  wealth  and  power,  of 
the  superior  grandeur  of  mental  attainments,  of  the 
ever-increasing  value  of  philosophical  acquirements 
and  capacities,  than  she  could  have  done  ere 

"  Palmyra,  central  in  the  desert,  fell." 

Perhaps  it  would  be  wrong  to  leave  this  glorious  woman 
without  a  tribute  to  her  superiority  over  other  sov- 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  179 

ereigns  of  that  age,  and  even  most  of  those  of  any  age, 
in  freedom  of  mind,  in  toleration.  Hers  was  ever  an 
inquiring  mind,  seeking  truth  in  the  past,  the  distant, 
and  the  mysterious.  But  all  who  wished  could  wor 
ship  in  an  inherited  and  settled  faith.  She  listened  to 
the  Gentile,  as  he  taught  her  of  the  deities  of  wood,  of 
mount,  and  stream,  but  she  also  hearkened  to  the  Jew, 
as  he  told  her  of  the  One  only  GOD. 

There  were  teachers  in  Rome  of  a  new  and  despised 
religion  when  Zenobia  was  taken  there  a  prisoner,  and 
it  was  a  religion  peculiarly  adapted  to  a  lofty  mind, 
and  wounded  heart.  It  was  a  religion  which  brought 
joy  to  the  mourner,  and  a  promise  of  deliverance  to 
the  captive.  It  may  be  that  she  heard  of  it  in  her 
seclusion,  that  she  learned  to  obey  its  precepts,  and 
receive  its  consolations;  that  something  better  than 
mere  philosophy  became  her  support,  that  she  ceased 
to  sigh  over  her  "  marble  waste"  when  her  thoughts 
were  fixed  upon  a  more  truly  Eternal  City ;  and  that 
she  ceased  to  regret  an  earthly  diadem  in  her  anticipa 
tions  of  a  crown  which  should  never  pass  away. 


180  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

THE  COUNTRY  LAWYER 

ENGAGED   IN  HIS  OWN   SUIT 


A  CHAPTER  FROM  AN  UNPUBLISHED  TALE. 


THE  remembrance  of  Elliott  Belsham's  misadventure 
lingered  much  longer  in  the  minds  of  the  witnesses 
than  of  the  actor.  His  mind  was  of  that  class  which 
thinks  lightly  of  mistakes  in  dress,  speech  and  demean 
or,  or  rather  which  scarcely  thinks  of  them  at  all.  But 
whatever  did  affect  his  feelings,  or  impress  his  intellect, 
was  almost  always  permanent.  And  what  was  there, 
at  Mrs.  Standrin's  party,  which  conveyed  a  more  last 
ing  impression  than  even  his  own  luckless  accident  ? 
It  was  the  beauty,  sprightliness  and  splendid  dress  of 
Cornelia  Willard.  Yes  ;  she  had  not  arrayed  herself 
in  the  new  and  elegant  challe  for  nought ;  though  the 
simple  student  was  entirely  unaware  of  the  influence 
of  the  latter  over  his  fancy.  Cornelia  had  gained  her 
end,  and  been  acknowledged  the  belle  of  the  party ; 
and  the  brilliance  of  her  appearance  had  made  captive 
one  heart  which  could  only  be  retained  by  an  equal 
superiority  of  mind  and  heart. 

Elliott  thought  of  Cornelia  till  it  appeared  to  him 
that  the  possession  of  such  loveliness  was  essential  to 
his  happiness  ;  and  so  he  resolved  to  obtain  possession, 
which  is  "  nine  tenths  of  the  law,"  and  the  tenth  he 
doubted  not  would  follow  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Do  not  let  us  sneer  at  the  lawyer  —  older  and  wiser 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  181 

men  than  he  was  have  been  led  astray  by  the  charms 
of  beauty  ;  and  cold  indeed  must  be  the  heart  which  is 
insensible  to  its  influence,  ere  it  has  learned  the  lesson 
that  -all  is  not  gold  that  glitters." 

To  Elliott  Belsham  all  women  were  alike,  —  that  is, 
all  were  truth,  confidence  and  affection ;  and  differed 
but  in  their  exterior.  '  In  this  Cornelia  excelled,  and 
therefore  to  him  was  the  queen  of  all  the  rest. 

Elliott  also  was  a  reasoning  man.  With  him  all  sub 
jects  of  importance  were  resolved  into  axioms,  proposi 
tions,  syllogisms,  &c. ;  and  he  reasoned  thus  about  his 
love,  and  its  object : 

Firstly,  Women  like  husbands ; 

Secondly,  Cornelia  Willard  is  a  woman ; 

Therefore,  Thirdly,  she  would  like  a  husband. 

Then  again  he  reasoned  thus : 

Firstly,  Men  make  husbands ; 

Secondly,  Elliott  Belsham  is  a  man  ; 

Therefore,  Thirdly,  he  would  make  a  husband. 

Taking  the  conclusions  of  the  two  syllogisms  for  the 
premises  of  a  third,  it  followed  thus  : 

Firstly,  Cornelia  Willard  would  like  a  husband ; 

Secondly.  Elliott  Belsham  would  make  a  husband; 

Therefore,  Thirdly,  Cornelia  Willard  would  like 
Elliott  Belsham. 

We  may  smile  at  the  logic  of  the  rustic  lawyer,  but 
do  not  half  our  young  beaux  reason  thus?  "  I  am  a 
man,  and  she  is  a  woman ;"  and  this  thought  is  the 
foundation  of  their  assurance.  Elliott  thought  he  had  no 
more  to  do  than  to  ask,  and  it  should  be  given  ;  to  seek, 
and  he  should  find;  and  to  knock,  and  he  could  "come 
in." 

16 


182  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

The  next  consideration  was  —  How  to  make  the 
first  advances.  Lawyers  consult  precedents.  Elliott 
did  this ;  and  found  it  an  established  rule  in  all  stat 
utes,  and  love  stories  where  the  actors  were  discreet, 
sensible,  prudent  young  men  and  women,  that  the  lady 
should  be  first  requested  of  her  father,  and  then  her 
own  consent  be  solicited.  With  no  preliminaries,  ex 
cepting  the  usual  remarks  about  the  weather  and  the 
last  election,  he  broached  his  subject  to  deacon  Willard. 

"Deacon,  is  your  daughter  engaged?" 

"  Not  as  1  knows  on." 

"  Are  her  affections  free  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  don't  never  tell  me  nothing  about  her 
love-scrapes ;  though  I  guess  she  has  as  many  fellers 
as  any  on  'em." 

"Well,  if  her  feelings  were  deeply  interested  you 
would  know  of  it ;  and  if  any  one  had  conceived  a 
particular  regard  for  her,  they  would,  if  honorable 
men,  declare  it  through  the  medium  of  her  father." 

"  That 's  what  you  've  come  for  now?  " 

"Yes,  deacon!  and  if  you  have  no  objections  to 
receiving  me  for  a  son-in-law,  I  hope  for  your  kind 
services  in  my  behalf." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I've  nothing  to  say  agin  it;  for 
everybody  tells  as  how  you  're  a  real  first-rate  scholar, 
and  always  got  up  to  the  head  in  college ;  and  Squire 
Allerton  thinks  that  none  of  'em  '11  ever  go  ahead  on 
you  in  these  parts,  and  mebbe  you  '11  be  President  one 
o'  these  long  sunshiny  days.  Should'nt  wonder  myself!" 

"  I  have  no  such  hopes,  deacon ;  though,  for  your 
daughter's  sake,  I  will  exert  every  power.  I  will  call 
this  evening  for  her  answer.  Good  morning." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  183 

"  Morning,  sir  !  "  and  the  deacon  turned  from  the 
breakfast  room  to  his  daughter's  parlor.  She  had  wit 
nessed  the  departure  of  her  wooer  from  the  window. 

"Nealy,  the  young  squire  wants  to  come  here 
courtin'." 

"Who  does  he  want  to  court,  father,  me,  or  Kate 
OBrien?  " — the  kitchen  girl. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed,  when  he's 
the  likeliest  feller  in  the  States,  to  talk  about  him  at 
this  rate." 


THE  PATCHWORK  QUILT. 

THERE  it  is!  in  the  inner  sanctum  of  my  "old-maid's 
hall"  —as  cosy  a  little  room  as  any  lady  need  wish 
to  see  attached  to  her  boudoir,  and  gloomy  only  from 
the  name  attached  to  it — for  there  is  much  in  a  name  ; 
and  the  merriest  peal  of  laughter,  if  echoed  from  an 
"old-maid's  hall,"  seems  like  the  knell  of  girlhood's 
hopes. 

Yes,  there  is  the  PATCHAVORK  QUILT  !  looking  to  the 
uninterested  observer  but  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
odd  bits  and  ends  of  calico,  but  to  me  it  is  a  precious 
reliquary  of  past  treasures  ;  a  storehouse  of  valuables, 
almost  destitute  of  intrinsic  worth ;  a  herbarium  of 
withered  flowers;  a  bound  volume  of  hieroglyphics, 
each  of  which  is  a  key  to  some  painful  or  pleasant  re- 


184  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

membrance,  a  symbol  of — but,  ah,  I  am  poetizing  and 
spiritualizing  over  my  "  patch  work  quilt."  Gentle 
friends  !  it  contains  a  piece  of  each  of  my  childhood's 
calico  gowns,  and  of  my  mother's  and  sisters' ;  and 
that  is  not  all.  I  must  tell  you  more,  and  then  you 
will  not  wonder  that  I  have  chosen  for  this  entertain 
ment  my  patchwork  quilt. 

It  is  one  of  my  earliest  recollections,  and  that  of  the 
memorable  period  when  I  emerged  from  babyhood  to 
childhood  —  the  commencement  of  this  patchwork  quilt. 
I  was  learning  to  sew !  O,  the  exultations,  the  aspira 
tions,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  mortifications,  the  per 
severance — in  short,  all  moral  emotions  and  valuable 
qualities  and  powers,  were  brought  out  in  this  grand 
achievement — the  union  of  some  little  shreds  of  calico. 
And  can  I  ever  forget  the  long-suffering,  patience,  and 
forbearance  of  my  kind  mother? — her  smiles  and  words 
of  encouragement  and  sympathy;  her  generosity  in  the 
donation  of  calico  bits  ;  her  marvellous  ingenuity  in 
joining  together  pieces  of  all  shapes,  so  that  they  Avould 
result  in  a  perfect  square !  Parents,  never  purchase 
for  your  children  mathematical  puzzles  —  you  can 
teach  them  and  amuse  them  by  making  patchwork. 

Nor  must  I  forget  the  beautiful  brass  thimble  that 
my  father  gave  me,  with  the  assurance  that  if  I  never 
would  lose  it  he  would  one  day  give  me  one  of  silver! 
Nor  the  present  of  the  kind  old  lady  who  expressed  her 
gratification  over  my  small  stitches  by  a  red  broadcloth 
strawberry,  which  was  introduced  to  me  as  an  emery- 
bag.  An  emery-bag!  its  office  and  functions  were  all 
to  be  learned!  How  much  there  was  that  I  did  not 
know.  But  when  I  had  so  far  learned  to  sew  that  five 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  185 

minutes'  interval  of  rest  and  triumph  did  not  occur 
between  every  two  stitches,  the  strenuous  application, 
by  which  I  drove  the  perspiration  from  every  pore  of 
the  hand,  soon  taught  me  the  value  of  the  emery-bag. 

0  what  a  heroine  was  I  in  driving  the  stitches!    What 
a  martyr  under  the  pricks  and  inflictions  of  the  needle, 
which  often  sent  the  blood  from  my  fingers,  but  could 
not  force  a  tear  from  my  eyes!     These  were  the  first 
lessons  in  heroism  and  fortitude.     How  much,  too,  I 
learned   of  the   world's   generosity  in   rewarding  the 
efforts  of  the  industrious  and  enterprising.    How  many 
pieces  in  that  quilt  were  presented  because  I  "  could 
sew,"  and  did  sew,  and  was  such  an  adept  in  sewing. 
What  predictions  that  I  should  be  a  noted  sempstress ; 
that  I  should  soon  be  able  to  make  shirts  for  my  father, 
sheets  for  my  mother,  and  nobody  knows  what  not  for 
little  brothers  and  sisters.     What  legends  were  told  me 
of  little  girls  who  had    learned   patchwork   at   three 
years  of  age,  and  could  put  a   shirt  together  at  six. 
W  hat  magical  words  were  gusset,  felling,  buttonhole- 
stitch,   and   so   forth,    each    a   Sesame,    opening   into 
arcana  of  workmanship  —  through  and  beyond  which 

1  could  see  embroidery,  hem-stitch,  open-work,  tam 
bour,  and  a  host  of  magical  beauties.     What  predic 
tions  that  I  could  some  day  earn  my  living  by  my 
needle  —  predictions,    alas!   that   have   most    signally 
failed. 

Here,  also,  are  the  remembrances  of  another  memo 
rable  period — the  days  when  the  child  emerged  into 
girlhood  !  —  when  the  mind  expanded  beyond  the  influ 
ence  of  calico  patchwork,  and  it  was  laid  aside  for 
more  important  occupations.  O  what  a  change  was 
16* 


186  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

there  !  Once  there  could  have  "been  nothing  more  im 
portant — now  the  patchwork  was  almost  heneath  my 
notice.  But  there  was  another  change.  Muslin  and 
lace,  with  cloths  of  more  common  texture,  had  long 
occupied  my  attention  when  my  thoughts  and  efforts 
were  returned  to  my  patchwork  quilt.  Well  do  I  re 
member  the  boy  who  waited  upon  me  home  from  sing 
ing-school  "six  times  running."  I  do  not  mean  that 
he  waited  "  running."  but  that  he  escorted  me  home 
six  times  in  succession.  What  girl  would  not.  under 
such  circumstances,  have  resumed  her  patchwork 
quilt?  But  how  stealthily  it  was  done.  Hitherto  the 
patchwork  joys  had  been  enhanced  by  the  sympathy, 
praises  and  assistance  of  others ;  but  now  they  were 
cherished  "in  secrecy  and  silence."  But  the  patch 
work  quilt  bears  witness  to  one  of  the  first  lessons 
upon  the  vanity  of  youthful  hopes —  the  mutability  of 
earthly  wishes;  and  —  and — any  body  might  accom 
pany  me  home  six  hundred  times  now.  and  such  atten 
tions  would  never  be  succeeded  by  a  renewal  of  those 
patchwork  hopes.  Well  do  I  remember  the  blushes  of 
painful  consciousness  with  which  I  met  my  sister's  eye, 
when  she  broke  into  my  sanctuary,  and  discovered  my 
employment.  By  these  alone  might  my  secret  have 
been  discovered. 

But  how  many  passages  of  my  life  seem  to  be  epito 
mized  in  this  patchwork  quilt.  Here  is  the  piece  in 
tended  for  the  centre  :  a  star  as  I  called  it ;  the  rays  of 
which  are  remnants  of  that  bright  copperplate  cushion 
which  graced  my  mother's  easy  chair.  And  here  is  a 
piece  of  that  radiant  cotton  gingham  dress  which  was 
purchased  to  wear  to  the  dancing  school.  I  have  not 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  187 

forgotten  the  almost  supernatural  exertions  by  which  I 
attempted  to  finish  it  in  due  season  for  the  first  night ; 
nor  how  my  mantua-maker,  with  pious  horror,  en 
deavored  as  strenuously  to  disappoint  me  ;  but  spite  of 
her  it  was  finished,  and  she  was  guiltless  —  finished, 
all  but  the  neck-binding,  and  I  covered  that  with  my 
little  embroidered  cape. 

Here  is  a  piece  of  the  first  dress  I  ever  saw,  cut  with 
what  were  called  '-mutton-leg"  sleeves.  It  was  my 
sister's,  and  what  a  marvellous  fine  fashion  we  all 
thought  that  was.  Here,  too,  is  a  remnant  of  the  first 
"bishop  sleeve"  my  mother  wore  ;  arid  here  is  a  frag 
ment  of  the  first  gown  that  \yas  ever  cut  for  me  with 
a  bodice  waist.  Was  there  ever  so  graceful,  beautiful- 
pointed  a  fashion  for  ladies'  waists  before  ?  Never,  in 
my  estimation.  By  this  fragment  I  remember  the 
gown  with  wings  on  the  shoulders,  in  which  I  supposed 
myself  to  look  truly  angelic;  and,  oh,  down  in  this 
comer  a  piece  of  that  in  which  I  first  felt  myself  a 
woman  —  that  is,  when  I  first  discarded  pantalettes. 

Here  is  a  fragment  of  the  beautiful  gingham  of 
which  I  had  so  scanty  a  pattern,  and  thus  taxed  my 
dress -maker's  wits  ;  and  here  a  piece  of  that  of  which 
mother  and  all  my  sisters  had  one  with  me.  Wonder 
ful  coincidence  of  taste,  and  opportunity  to  gratify  it ! 
Here  is  a  piece  of  that  mourning  dress  in  which  I 
thought  my  mother  looked  so  genteel ;  and  here  one  of 
that  which  should  have  been  warranted  "not  to  wash," 
or  to  wash  all  white.  Here  is  a  fragment  of  the  pink 
apron  which  I  ornamented  so  tastefully  with  "tape 
trimming;"  and  here  a  piece  of  that  which  was  pointed 
all  around.  Here  is  a  token  of  kindness  in  the  shape 


188  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

of  a  square  of  the  old  brocade-looking  calico,  presented 
by  a  venerable  friend ;  and  here  a  piece  given  by  the 
naughty  little  girl  with  whom  I  broke  friendship,  and 
then  wished  to  take  it  out  of  its  place,  an  act  of  ven 
geance  opposed  by  my  then  forbearing  mother  —  on 
this  occasion  I  thought  too  forbearing.  Here  is  a  frag 
ment  of  the  first  dress  which  baby  brother  wore  when 
he  left  off  long  clothes ;  and  here  are  relics  of  the  long 
clothes  themselves.  Here  a  piece  of  that  pink  gingham 
frock,  which  for  him  was  so  splendidly  decked  with 
pearl  buttons :  and  here  a  piece  of  that  for  which  he 
was  so  unthankful,  for  he  thought  he  was  big  enough 
to  wear  something  more  substantial  than  calico  frocks. 
Here  is  a  piece  of  that  calico  which  so  admirably  imi 
tated  vesting,  and  my  mother — economical  from  neces 
sity — bought  it  to  make  '-waistcoats"  for  the  boys. 
Here  are  pieces  of  that  I  thought  so  bright  and  beauti 
ful  to  set  oft'  my  quilt  with,  and  bought  strips  of  it  by 
the  cent's  worth  —  strips  more  in  accordance  with  the 
good  dealer's  benevolence  than  her  usual  price  for  the 
calico.  Here  is  a  piece  of  the  first  dress  which  was 
ever  earned  by  my  own  exertions !  What  a  feeling  of 
exultation,  of  self-dependence,  of  self-reliance,-  was 
created  by  this  effort.  W  hat  expansion  of  mind  !  — 
what  awakening  of  dormant  powers !  Wellington  was 
not  prouder,  when  he  gained  the  field  of  Waterloo, 
than  I  was  with  that  gown.  The  belle,  who  purchases 
her  dresses  with  the  purse  her  father  has  always  filled, 
knows  not  of  the  triumphant  beatings  of  my  heart 
upon  this  occasion  ;  and  I  might  now  select  the  richest 
silk  without  that  honest  heart-felt  joy.  To  do  for  my 
self —  to  earn  my  own  living  —  to  meet  my  daily 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  189 

expenses  by  my  own  daily  toil,  is  now  a  task  quite 
deprived  of  its  novelty,  and  Time  has  robbed  it  of  some 
of  its  pleasure.  And  here  are  patterns  presented  by 
kind  friends,  and  illustrative  of  their  tastes ;  but  enough 
for  you. 

Then  was  another  era  in  the  history  of  my  quilt. 
My  sister — three  years  younger  than  myself — was  in 
want  of  patchwork,  while  mine  lay  undisturbed,  with 
no  prospect  of  being  ever  called  from  its  repository. 
Yes,  she  was  to  be  married ;  and  I  not  spoken  for  ! 
She  was  to  be  taken,  and  I  left,  I  gave  her  the  patch 
work.  It  seemed  like  a  transference  of  girlish  hopes 
and  aspirations,  or  rather  a  finale  to  them  all.  Girl 
hood  had  gone,  and  I  was  a  woman.  I  felt  this  more 
than  I  had  ever  felt  it  before,  for  my  baby  sister  was 
to  be  a  wife.  We  arranged  it  into  a  quilt.  Those 
were  pleasant  hours  in  which  I  sympathized  so  strongly 
in  all  her  hopes  that  I  made  them  mine.  Then  came 
the  quilting :  a  party  not  soon  to  be  forgotten,  with  its 
jokes  and  merriment.  Here  is  the  memento  of  a  mis 
chievous  brother,  who  was  determined  to  assist,  other 
wise  than  by  his  legitimate  occupation  of  rolling  up  the 
quilt  as  it  was  finished,  snapping  the  chalk-line,  passing 
thread,  wax  and  scissors,  and  shaking  hands  across  the 
quilt  for  all  girls  with  short  arms.  He  must  take  the 
thread  and  needle.  Well,  we  gave  him  white  thread, 
and  appointed  him  to  a  very  dark  piece  of  calico,  so 
that  we  might  pick  it  out  the  easier;  but  there !  to 
spite  us,  he  did  it  so  nicely  that  it  still  remains,  a  me 
mento  of  his  skill  with  the  needle  —  there  in  that  comer 
of  the  patchwork  quilt. 

And  why  did  the  young  bride  exchange  her  snowy 


190  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

counterpane  for  the  patchwork  quilt  ?  These  dark 
stains  at  the  top  of  it  will  tell  —  stains  left  by  the 
night  medicines,  taken  in  silence  and  darkness,  as 
though  to  let  another  know  of  her  pains  and  remedies 
would  make  her  sickness  more  real.  As  though  Dis 
ease  would  stay  his  hand  if  met  so  quietly,  and  re 
pulsed  so  gently.  The  patchwork  quilt  rose  and  fell 
with  the  heavings  of  her  breast  as  she  sighed  in  the 
still  night  over  the  departing  joys  of  youth,  of  health, 
of  newly  wedded  life.  Through  the  bridal  chamber 
rang  the  knell-like  cough,  which  told  us  all  that  we 
must  prepare  for  her  an  early  grave.  The  patchwork 
quilt  shrouded  her  wasted  form  as  she  sweetly  resigned 
herself  to  the  arms  of  Death,  and  fell  with  the  last  low 
sigh  which  breathed  forth  her  gentle  spirit.  Then  set 
tled  upon  the  lovely  form,  now  stiffening,  cold  and 
lifeless. 

And  back  to  me,  with  all  its  memories  of  childhood, 
youth,  and  maturer  years ;  its  associations  of  joy  and 
sorrow ;  of  smiles  arid  tears ;  of  life  and  death,  has  re 
turned  THE  PATCHWORK  Q.UILT. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  191 


VILLAGE   PASTORS. 

THE  old  village-pastor  of  New  England,  was  "  a 
man  having  authority."  His  deacons  were  under  him, 
and  not,  as  is  now  often  the  case,  his  tyrannical  rulers  ; 
and  whenever  his  parishioners  met  him,  they  doffed 
their  hats,  and  said,  "  Your  reverence."  Whatever 
passed  his  lips  was  both  law  and  gospel ;  and  when 
too  old  and  infirm  to  ministerto  his  charge,  he  was  not 
turned  away,  like  a  worn-out  beast,  to  die  of  hunger, 
or  gather  up,  with  failing  strength,  the  coarse  bit  which 
might  eke  out  a  little  longer  his  remaining  days  ;  but 
he  was  still  treated  with  all  the  deference,  and  support 
ed  with  all  the  munificence  which  was  believed  due  to 
him  whom  they  regarded  as  "  God's  vicegerent  upon 
earth."  He  deemed  himself,  and  was  considered  by 
his  parishioners,  if  not  infallible,  yet  something  ap 
proaching  it.  Those  were  indeed  the  days  of  glory 
for  New  England  clergymen. 

Perhaps  I  am  wrong.  The  present  pastor  of  New 
England,  with  his  more  humble  mien  and  conciliatory 
tone,  his  closer  application  and  untiring  activity,  may 
be,  in  a  wider  sphere,  as  interesting  an  object  of  con 
templation.  Many  are  the  toils,  plans  and  enterprises 
entrusted  to  him,  which  in  former  days  were  not  per 
mitted  to  interfere  with  the  duties  exclusively  apper 
taining  to  the  holy  vocation ;  yet  with  added  labors, 
the  modern  pastor  receives  neither  added  honors,  nor 
added  remuneration.  Perhaps  it  is  well  — nay,  perhaps 
it  is  better ;  but  I  am  confident  that  if  the  old  pastor 


192  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

could  return,  and  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  situa 
tions  of  his  successors,  he  would  exclaim,  "How  has 
the  glory  departed  from  Israel,  and  how  have  they 
cast  down  the  sons  of  Levi !  " 

I  have  been  led  to  these  reflections  by  a  contempla 
tion  of  the  characters  of  the  first  three  occupants  of 
the  pulpit  in  my  native  village. 

Our  old  pastor  was  settled,  as  all  then  were,  for  life. 
I  can  remember  him  but  in  his  declining  years,  yet 
even  then  was  he  a  hale  and  vigorous  old  man.  Hon 
ored  and  beloved  by  all  his  flock,  his  days  passed  un 
disturbed  by  the  storms  and  tempests  which  have  since 
then  so  often  darkened  and  disturbed  the  theological 
world.  The  opinions  and  creeds,  handed  down  by  his 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  he  carefully  cherished,  neither  adding 
thereto,  nor  taking  therefrom ;  and  he  indoctrinated  the 
young  in  all  the  mysteries  of  the  true  faith,  with  an  un- 
doubting  belief  in  its  infallibility.  There  was  much  of 
the  patriarch  in  his  look  and  manner ;  and  this  was 
heightened  by  the  nature  of  his  avocations,  in  which 
pastoral  labors  were  mingled  with  clerical  duties.  No 
farm  was  in  better  order  than  that  at  the  parsonage  ;  no 
fields  looked  more  thriving,  and  no  flocks  were  more 
profitable,  than  were  those  of  the  good  clergyman. 
Indeed,  he  sometimes  almost  forgot  his  spiritual  field, 
in  the  culture  of  that  which  was  more  earthy. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  the  minister  was  very  busily 
engaged  in  hay-making.  His  good  wife  had  observed 
that  during  the  week  he  had  been  unusually  engrossed 
in  temporal  affairs,  and  feared  for  the  well-being  of  his 
flock,  as  she  saw  that  he  could  not  break  the  earthly 
spell,  even  upon  this  last  day  of  the  week.  She  looked, 


Or    THE   SEA    OF    GENIUS.  193 

and  looked  in  vain,  for  his  return ;  until,  finding  him 
wholly  lost  to  a  sense  of  his  higher  duties,  she  deemed 
it  her  duty  to  remind  him  of  them.  So  away  she  went 
to  the  haying  field,  and  when  she  was  in  sight  of  the 
Reverend  haymaker,  she  screamed  out,  "  Mr.  W. ! 
Mr.  W. ! " 

"  What,  my  dear?  "  shouted  Mr.  W.  in  return. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  feed  your  people  with  hay,  to 
morrow  V 

This  was  a  poser  —  and  Mr.  W.  dropped  his  rake, 
and,  repairing  to  his  study,  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
the  preparation  of  food  more  meet  for  those  who  looked 
so  trustfully  to  him  for  the  bread  of  life. 

His  faithful  companion  was  taken  from  him,  and 
those  who  knew  of  his  strong  and  refined  attachment 
to  her,  said  truly,  when  they  prophesied,  that  he  would 
never  marry  again. 

She  left  one  son  —  their  only  child  —  a  boy  of  noble 
feelings  and  superior  intellect ;  and  his  father  carefully 
educated  him  with  the  fond  wish  that  he  would  one 
day  succeed  him  in  the  sacred  office  of  a  minister  of 
God.  He  hoped  indeed  that  he  might  even  fill  the 
very  pulpit  which  he  must  at  some  time  vacate  ;  and 
he  prayed  that  his  own  life  might  be  spared  until  this 
hope  had  been  realized. 

Endicott  W.  was  also  looked  upon  as  their  future 
pastor  by  many  of  the  good  parishioners  ;  and  never 
did  a  more  pure  and  gentle  spirit  take  upon  himself 
the  task  of  preparing  to  minister  to  a  people  in  holy 
things.  He  was  the  beloved  of  his  father,  the  only 
child  who  had  ever  blessed  him  —  for  he  had  not  mar 
ried  till  late  in  life,  and  the  warm  affections  which  had 
17 


194  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

been  so  tardily  bestowed  upon  one  of  the  gentler  sex, 
were  now  with  an  unusual  fervor  lavished  upon  this 
image  of  her  who  was  gone. 

When  Endicott  W.  returned  home,  having  completed 
his  studies  at  the  University,  he  was  requested  by  our 
parish  to  settle  as  associate  pastor  with  his  father, 
whose  failing  strength  was  unequal  to  the  regular  dis 
charge  of  his  parochial  duties.  It  was  indeed  a  beau 
tiful  sight  to  see  that  old  man,  with  bending  form  and 
silvery  locks,  joining  in  the  public  ministrations  with 
his  young  and  gifted  son  —  the  one  with  a  calm  expres 
sion  of  trusting  faith ;  the  countenance  of  the  other 
beaming  with  that  of  enthusiasm  and  hope. 

Endicott  was  ambitious.  He  longed  to  see  his  own 
name  placed  in  the  bright  constellation  of  famed  the 
ologians  ;  and  though  he  knew  that  years  must  be 
spent  in  toil  for  the  attainment  of  that  object,  he  was 
willing  that  they  should  be  thus  devoted.  The  mid 
night  lamp  constantly  witnessed  the  devotions  of  En 
dicott  W.  at  the  shrine  of  science;  and  the  wasting 
form  and  fading  cheek  told  what  would  be  the  fate  of 
the  infatuated  worshipper. 

It  was  long  before  our  young  pastor,  his  aged  father, 
and  the  idolizing  people  who  were  so  proud  of  his  tal 
ents,  and  such  admirers  of  his  virtues,  —  it  was  long 
ere  these  could  be  made  to  believe  he  was  dying ;  but 
Endicott  W.  departed  from  life,  as  a  bright  cloud  fades 
away  in  a  noon-day  sky  —  for  his  calm  exit  was  sur 
rounded  by  all  which  makes  a  death-bed  glorious.  His 
aged  father  said,  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away  ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  And 
then  he  went  again  before  his  flock,  and  endeavored 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  195 

to  reconcile  them  to  their  loss,  and  dispense  again  the 
comforts  and  blessings  of  the  gospel,  trusting  that  his 
strength  would  still  be  spared,  until  one,  who  was  even 
then  preparing,  should  be  ready  to  take  his  place. 


Shall  I  tell  you  now  of  my  own  old  home  ?  It 
was  a  rude  farm-house,  almost  embowered  by  ancient 
trees,  which  covered  the  sloping  hill-side  on  which  it 
was  situated ;  and  it  looked  like  an  old  pilgrim,  who 
had  crawled  into  the  thicket  to  rest  his  limbs,  and  hide 
his  poverty.  My  parents  were  poor,  toiling,  care-worn 
beings,  and  in  a  hard  struggle  for  the  comforts  of  this 
life,  had  almost  forgotten  to  prepare  for  that  which  is 
to  come.  It  is  true,  the  outward  ordinances  of  reli 
gion  were  never  neglected ;  but  the  spirit,  the  feeling, 
the  interest,  in  short,  all  that  is  truly  deserving  the 
name  of  piety,  was  wanting.  My  father  toiled,  through 
the  burning  heat  of  summer,  and  the  biting  frost  of 
winter,  for  his  loved  ones  ;  and  my  mother  also  labored 
from  the  first  dawn  of  day  till  a  late  hour  at  night, 
in  behalf  of  her  family.  She  was  true  to  her  duties 
as  wife  and  mother,  but  it  was  from  no  higher  motive 
than  the  instincts  which  prompt  the  fowls  of  the  air  to 
cherish  their  brood ;  and  though  she  perhaps  did  not 
believe  that  "  labor  was  the  end  of  life,"  still  her  con 
duct  would  have  given  birth  to  that  supposition. 

I  had  been  for  some  time  the  youngest  of  the  family, 
when  a  little  brother  was  born.  He  was  warmly  wel 
comed  by  us,  though  we  had  long  believed  the  family 
circle  complete.  We  were  not  then  aware  at  how  dear 


196  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND. 

a  price  the  little  stranger  was  to  be  purchased.  From 
the  moment  of  his  birth,  my  mother  never  knew  an 
hour  of  perfect  health.  She  had  previously  injured 
her  constitution  by  unmitigated  toil,  and  now  were  the 
eifects  to  be  more  sensibly  felt.  She  lived  very  many 
years ;  but  it  was  the  life  of  an  invalid. 

Reader,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  "  thirty  years'  con 
sumption  ? "  a  disease  at  present  unknown  in  New 
England  —  for  that  scourge  of  our  climate  will  now 
complete  in  a  few  months  the  destruction  which  it  took 
years  of  desperate  struggle  to  perform,  upon  the  con 
stitutions  of  our  more  hardy  ancestors. 

My  mother  was  in  such  a  consumption  — that  disor 
der  which  comes  upon  its  victim  like  the  Aurorean 
flashes  in  an  Arctic  sky,  now  vivid  in  its  pure  loveli 
ness,  and  then  shrouded  in  a  sombre  gloom.  Now  we 
hoped,  nay,  almost  believed,  she  was  to  be  again  quite 
well,  and  anon  we  watched  around  a  bed  from  which 
we  feared  she  would  never  arise. 

It  was  strange  to  us,  who  had  always  seen  her  so 
unremitting  in  her  toilsome  labors,  and  so  careless  in 
her  exposure  to  the  elements,  to  watch  around  her  now 
—  to  shield  her  from  the  lightest  breeze,  or  the  slightest 
dampness  of  the  air  —  to  guard  her  from  all  intrusion, 
and  relieve  her  from  all  care  —  to  be  always  reserving 
for  her  the  warmest  place  by  the  fire-side,  and  pre 
paring  the  choicest  bit  of  food  —  to  be  ever  ready  to 
pillow  her  head  and  bathe  her  brow  —  in  short,  to  be 
never  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  disease.  Our 
steps  grew  softer,  and  our  voices  lower,  and  the  still 
ness  ef  our  manners  had  its  influence  upon  our  minds. 
The  hush  was  upon  our  spirits ;  and  there  can  surely 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  197 

be  nothing  so  effectual  in  carrying  the  soul  before  its 
Maker,  as  disease ;  and  it  may  truly  be  said  to  every 
one  who  enters  the  chamber  of  sickness,  "  The  place 
whereon  thou  standest  is  holy  ground." 

My  little  brother  was  to  us  an  angel  sent  from 
heaven.  He  possessed  a  far  more  delicate  frame  and 
lofty  intellect  than  any  other  member  of  the  family ; 
and  his  high,  pale  brow,  and  brilliant  eyes,  were 
deemed  sure  tokens  of  uncommon  genius.  My  mother, 
herself,  watched  with  pleasure  these  indications  of 
talent,  although  the  time  had  been  when  a  predilection 
for  literary  pursuits  would  have  been  thought  incon 
sistent  with  the  common  duties  which  we  were  all 
born  to  fulfil. 

We  had  always  respected  the  learned  and  talented, 
but  it  was  with  a  feeling  akin  to  the  veneration  we 
felt  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  spiritual  world.  They 
were  far  above  us,  and  we  were  content  to  bow  in 
reverence.  Our  thoughts  had  been  restricted  to  the 
narrow  circle  of  every-day  duties,  and  our  highest 
aspirations  were,  to  be  admitted  at  length,  as  specta 
tors,  to  the  glory  of  a  material  heaven,  where  streets 
of  gold,  and  thrones  of  ivory,  form  the  magnificence 
of  the  place.  It  was  different  now.  With  a  nearer 
view  of  that  better  world,  to  which  my  mother  had 
received  her  summons,  came  also  more  elevated  spirit 
ual  and  blissful  views  of  its  glory  and  perfection.  It 
was  another  heaven,  for  she  was  another  being;  and 
she  would  have  been  willing  at  any  moment  to  have 
resigned  the  existence  which  she  held  by  so  frail  a  ten 
ure,  had  it  not  been  for  the  sweet  child,  which  seemed 
17* 


198  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  have  been  sent  from  that  brighter  world  to  hasten 
and  prepare  her  for  departure. 

Our  pastor  was  now  a  constant  visitant.  Hitherto 
he  had  found  but  little  to  invite  him  to  our  humble 
habitation.  He  had  been  received  with  awe  and  con 
straint,  and  the  topics  upon  which  he  loved  to  dwell 
touched  no  chord  in  the  hearts  of  those  whom  he  ad 
dressed.  But  now  my  mother  was  anxious  to  pour 
into  his  ears  all  the  new-felt  sentiments  and  emotions 
with  which  her  heart  was  filled.  She  wished  to  share 
his  sympathy,  and  receive  his  instructions ;  for  she 
felt  painfully  conscious  of  her  extreme  ignorance. 

It  was  our  pastor  who  first  noticed  in  my  little 
brother  the  indications  of  mental  superiority,  and  we 
felt  them  as  though  the  magical  powers  of  some  fa 
vored  order  of  beings  had  been  transferred  to  one  in 
our  own  home-circle  ;  and  we  loved  the  little  Winthrop 
(for  father  had  named  him  for  the  old  Governor)  with 
a  stronger  and  holier  love  than  we  had  previously  felt 
•  for  each  other.  And  in  these  new  feelings  how  much 
was  there  of  happiness  !  Though  there  was  now  less 
health,  and  of  course  less  wealth,  in  our  home,  yet 
there  was  also  more  pure  joy. 

T  have  sometimes  been  out  upon  the  barren  hill-side, 
and  thought  that  there  was  no  pleasure  in  standing  on 
a  spot  so  desolate.  I  have  been  again  in  the  same  bare 
place,  and  there  was  a  balmy  odor  in  the  delicious  air, 
which  made  it  bliss  but  to  inhale  the  fragrance.  Some 
spicy  herb  had  carpeted  the  ground,  and  though  too 
lowly  and  simple  to  attract  the  eye,  yet  the  charm  it 
threw  around  the  scene  was  not  less  entrancing  be 
cause  so  viewless  and  unobtrusive. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  199 

Such  was  the  spell  shed  around  our  lowly  home  by 
the  presence  of  religion.  It  was  with  us  the  exhala 
tion  from  lowly  plants,  and  the  pure  fragrance  went  up 
the  more  freely  because  they  had  been  bruised.  In  our 
sickness  and  poverty  we  had  joy  in  the  present,  and 
bright  hopes  for  the  future. 

It  was  early  decided  that  Winthrop  should  be  a 
scholar.  Our  pastor  said  it  must  be  so,  and  Endicott, 
who  was  but  a  few  years  older,  assisted  him  in  his 
studies.  They  were  very  much  together,  and,  except 
ing  in  their  own  families,  had  no  other  companion. 
But  when  my  brother  returned  from  the  pastor's  study 
with  a  face  radiant  with  the  glow  of  newly  acquired 
knowledge,  and  a  heart  overflowing  in  its  desire  to  im 
part  to  others,  he  usually  went  to  his  pale,  emaciated 
mother,  to  give  vent  to  his  sensations  of  joy,  and  came 
to  me  to  bestow  the  boon  of  knowledge.  I  was  the 
nearest  in  age.  I  had  assisted  to  rear  his  infancy,  and 
been  his  constant  companion  in  childhood ;  and  now 
our  intercouse  was  to  be  continued  and  strengthened, 
amidst  higher  purpdses  and  loftier  feelings.  I  was  the 
depositary  of  all  his  hopes  and  fears,  the  sharer  of  all 
his  plans  for  the  future ;  and  his  aim  was  then  to  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  Endicott  W.  If  he  could  only  be 
as  good,  as  kind  and  learned,  he  should  think  himself 
one  of  the  best  of  mankind. 

When  Endicott  became  our  pastor,  my  brother  was 
ready  to  enter  College,  with  the  determination  to  con 
secrate  himself  to  the  same  high  calling.  It  seemed 
hardly  like  reality  to  us,  that  one  of  our  own  poor 
household  was  to  be  an  educated  man.  We  felt  lifted 
up  —  not  with  pride  —  for  the  feeling  which  elevated 


200  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

us  was  too  pure  for  that ;  but  we  esteemed  ourselves 
better  than  we  had  ever  been  before,  and  strove  to  be 
more  worthy  of  the  high  gift  which  had  been  bestowed 
upon  us.  When  my  brother  left  home,  it  was  with 
the  knowledge  that  self-denial  was  to  be  practised,  for 
his  sake,  by  those  who  remained ;  but  he  also  knew 
that  it  was  to  be  willingly,  nay,  joyously  performed. 
Still  he  did  not  know  all.  Even  things,  which  here 
tofore,  in  our  poverty,  we  had  deemed  essential  to  com 
fort,  were  now  resigned.  We  did  not  even  permit  my 
mother  to  know  how  differently  the  table  was  spread 
for  her  than  for  our  own  frugal  repast.  Neither  was 
she  aware  how  late  and  painfully  I  toiled  to  prevent 
the  hire  of  additional  service  upon  our  little  farm. 
The  joy  in  the  secret  depths  of  my  heart  was  its  own 
reward ;  and  never  yet  have  I  regretted  an  effort  or  a 
sacrifice  made  then.  It  was  a  discipline  like  the  re 
finer's  fire,  and  but  for  my  brother,  I  should  never 
have  been  even  as,  with  all  my  imperfections,  I  trust  I 
am  now. 

My  brother  returned  from  College  as  the  bright  sun 
of  Endicott  W.'s  brief  career  was  low  in  a  western 
sky.  He  had  intended  to  study  with  him  for  the  same 
vocation  —  and  with  him  he  did  prepare.  O,  there 
could  have  been  no  more  fitting  place  to  imbue  the 
mind  with  that  wisdom  which  cometh  from  above, 
than  the  sick  room  at  our  pastor's. 

"  The  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate, 
Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walks  of  life," — 

and  Endicott' s  was  like  the  shelter  of  some  bright 
spirit  from  the  other  world,  who,  for  the  sake  of  those 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  201 

about  him,  was  delaying  for  a  while  his  return  to  the 
home  above.  My  brother  was  with  him  in  his  latest 
hours,  and  received  as  a  dying  bequest  the  charge  of 
his  people.  The  parish  also  were  anxious  that  he 
should  be  Endicott's  successor ;  and  in  the  space  re 
quested  for  farther  preparation,  our  old  pastor  returned 
to  his  pulpit. 

But  he  had  overrated  his  own  powers ;  and  besides, 
he  was  growing  blind.  There  were  indeed  those  who 
said  that,  notwithstanding  his  calmness  in  the  presence 
of  others,  he  had  in  secret  wept  his  sight  away ;  and 
that  while  a  glimmer  of  it  remained,  the  curtain  of 
his  window,  which  overlooked  the  grave-yard,  had 
never  been  drawn.  He  ceased  his  labors,  but  a  tem 
porary  substitute  was  easily  found  — for.  as  old  Deacon 
S.  remarked,  "  There  are  many  ministers  noiv,  who  are 
glad  to  go  out  to  day's  labor." 

My  mother  had  prayed  that  strength,  might  be  im 
parted  to  her  feeble  frame,  to  retain  its  rejoicing  inhab 
itant  until  she  could  see  her  son  a  more  active  laborer 
in  the  Lord's  vineyard  ;  "  and  then,"  said  she,  "I  can 
depart  in  peace."  For  years  she  had  hoped  the  time 
would  come,  but  dared  not  hope  to  see  it.  But  life 
was  graciously  spared,  and  the  day  which  was  to  see 
him  set  apart  as  peculiarly  a  servant  of  his  God, 
dawned  upon  her  in  better  health  than  she  had  known 
for  years.  Perhaps  it  was  the  glad  spirit  which  im 
parted  its  renewing  glow  to  the  worn  body,  but  she 
went  with  us  that  day  to  the  service  of  ordination. 
The  old  church  was  thronged;  and  as  the  expressions 
of  thankfulness  went  up  from  the  preacher's  lips,  that 
one  so  worthy  was  then  to  be  dedicated  to  this  service, 


202  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

my  own  heart  was  subdued  by  the  solemn  joy  that  he 
was  one  of  us.  My  own  soul  was  poured  out  in  all 
the  exercises ;  but  when  the  charge  was  given,  there 
was  also  an  awe  upon  all  the  rest. 

Our  aged  pastor  had  been  led  into  his  pulpit,  that 
he  might  perform  this  ceremony ;  and  when  he  arose 
with  his  silvery  locks,  thinned  even  since  he  stood 
there  last,  and  raised  his  sightless  eyes  to  heaven,  I 
freely  wept.  He  was  in  that  pulpit  where  he  had  stood 
so  many  years,  to  warn,  to  guide  and  to  console :  and 
probably  each  familiar  face  was  then  presented  to  his 
imagination.  He  was  where  his  dear  departed  son  had 
exercised  the  ministerial  functions,  and  the  same  part 
of  the  service  which  he  had  performed  at  his  ordina 
tion,  he  was  to  enact  again  for  his  successor.  The 
blind  old  man  raised  his  trembling  hand,  and  laid  it 
upon  the  head  of  the  young  candidate;  and  as  the 
memories  of  the  past  came  rushing  over  him,  he  burst 
forth  in  a  strain  of  heart-stirring  eloquence.  There  was 
not  a  tearless  eye  in  the  vast  congregation ;  and  the 
remembrance  of  that  hour  had  doubtless  a  hallowing 
influence  upon  the  young  pastor's  life. 

My  brother  was  settled  for  five  years,  and  as  we  de 
parted  from  the  church,  I  heard  Deacon  S.  exclaim,  in 
his  bitterness  against  modern  degeneracy  in  spiritual 
things,  that  ''the  old  pastor  was  sealed  for  life."  "So 
is  the  new  one,"  said  a  low  voice  in  reply ;  and  for  the 
first  time  the  idea  was  presented  to  my  mind  that 
Winthrop  was  to  be,  like  Endicott  W.,  one  of  the  early 
called. 

But  the  impression  departed  in  my  constant  inter 
course  with  him  in  his  home  —  for  our  lowly  dwelling 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  203 

was  still  the  abode  of  the  new  pastor.  He  would 
never  remove  from  it  while  his  mother  lived,  and  an 
apartment  was  prepared  for  him  adjoining  hers.  They 
were  pleasant  rooms,  for  during  the  few  past  years  he 
had  done  much  to  beautify  the  place,  and  the  shrubs 
which  he  had  planted  were  already  at  their  growth. 
The  thick  vines  also  which  had  struggled  over  the 
building,  were  now  gracefully  twined  around  the  win 
dows,  and  some  of  the  old  trees  cut  down,  that  we 
might  be  allowed  a  prospect.  Still  all  that  could  con 
duce  to  beauty  was  retained ;  and  I  have  often  thought 
how  easily  and  cheaply  the  votary  of  true  taste  can 
enjoy  its  pleasures. 

Winthrop  was  now  so  constantly  active  and  cheerful, 
that  I  could  not  think  of  death  as  connected  with  him. 
But  I  knew  that  he  was  feeble,  and  watched  and  cher 
ished  him,  as  I  had  done  when  he  was  but  a  little 
child.  Though  in  these  respects  his  guardian,  in 
others  I  was  his  pupil.  I  sat  before  him,  as  Mary  did 
at  the  Messiah's  feet,  and  gladly  received  his  instruc 
tions.  My  heart  went  out  with  him  in  all  the  various 
functions  of  his  calling.  I  often  went  with  him  to  the 
bed-side  of  the  sick,  and  to  the  habitations  of  the 
wretched.  None  knew  better  than  he  did,  how  to  still 
the  throbbiugs  of  the  wrung  heart,  and  administer  con 
solation. 

I  was  present  also  when,  for  the  first  time,  he 
sprinkled  an  infant's  brow  with  the  waters  of  conse 
cration  ;  and  when  he  had  blessed  the  babe,  he  also 
prayed  that  we  might  all  become  even  as  that  little 
child.  I  was  with  him,  too,  when  for  the  first  time  he 
joined  in  holy  bands  those  whom  none  but  God  should 


204  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

ever  put  asunder ;  and  if  the  remembrance  of  the  fer 
vent  petition  which  went  up  for  them,  lias  dwelt  as 
vividly  in  their  hearts  as  it  has  in  mine,  that  prayer 
must  have  had  a  holy  influence  upon  their  lives. 

I  have  said  that  I  remember  his  first  baptism  and 
wedding ;  but  none  who  were  present  will  forget  his 
first  funeral.  It  was  our  mother's.  She  had  lived  so 
much  beyond  our  expectations,  and  been  so  graciously 
permitted  to  witness  the  fulfilment  of  her  dearest  hope, 
that  when  at  length  the  spirit  winged  its  flight,  we  all 
joined  in  the  thanksgiving  which  went  up  from  the 
lips  of  her  latest-born,  that  she  had  been  spared  so 
long. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Sabbath — that  day  appointed  for 
her  funeral  —  but  in  the  morning,  a  messenger  came 
to  tell  us  that  the  clergyman  whom  we  expected  was 
taken  suddenly  ill.  What  could  be  done?  Our  old 
pastor  was  then  confined, -to  his  bed,  and  on  this  day 
all  else  were  engaged.  "  1  will  perform  the  services 
myself,"  said  Winthrop.  "I  shall  even  be  happy  to 
do  it." 

"Nay,"  said  I,  "you  are  feeble,  and  already  spent 
with  study  and  watching.  It  must  not  be  so." 

"  Do  not  attempt  to  dissuade  me,  sister,"  he  replied. 
"  There  will  be  many  to  witness  the  interment  of  her 
who  has  hovered  upon  the  brink  of  the  grave  so  long; 
and  has  not  almost  every  incident  of  her  life,  from  my 
very  birth,  been  a  text  from  which  important  lessons 
may  be  drawn  ? "  And  then,  fixing  his  large  mild 
eyes  full  upon  me,  as  though  he  would  utter  a  truth 
which  duty  forbade  him  longer  to  suppress,  he  added, 
"  I  dare  not  misimprove  this  opportunity.  This  first 


OF    THE    SKA    OF    GENIUS.  205 

death  in  my  parish  may  also  be  the  last.  Nay,  weep 
not,  my  sister,  because  I  may  go  next.  The  time  at 
best  is  short,  and  I  must  work  while  the  day  lasts." 

I  did  not  answer.  My  heart  was  full,  and  I  turned 
away.  That  day  my  brother  ascended  his  pulpit  to 
conduct  the  funeral  services,  and  in  them  he  did  make 
of  her  life  a  lesson  to  all  present.  But  when  he  ad 
dressed  himself  particularly  to  the  young,  the  middle- 
aged,  and  the  old,  his  eyes  kindled,  and  his  cheeks 
glowed,  as  he  varied  the  subject  to  present  the  "king 
of  terrors  "  in  a  different  light  to  each.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  mourners.  And  who  were  they  ?  His  own  aged 
father,  the  companion  of  many  years  of  her  who  was 
before  them  in  her  shroud.  His  own  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  the  little  ones  of  the  third  generation,  whose 
childish  memories  had  not  even  yet  forgotten  her  dying 
blessing.  He  essayed  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  The  flash 
faded  from  his  cheek  till  he  was  deadly  pale.  Again 
he  attempted  to  address  us,  and  again  in  vain.  He 
raised  his  hand,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  folds  of  his 
white  handkerchief.  I  also  covered  my  eyes,  and 
there  was  a  deep  stillness  throughout  the  assembly.  At 
that  moment  I  thought  more  of  the  living  than  of  the 
dead ;  and  then  there  was  a  rush  among  the  great  con 
gregation,  like  the  sudden  bursting  forth  of  a  mighty 
torrent. 

I  raised  my  eyes,  but  could  see  no  one  in  the  pulpit. 
The  next  instant,  it  was  filled.  I  also  pressed  forward, 
and  unimpeded  ascended  the  steps,  for  all  stood  back 
that  I  might  pass.  I  reached  him  as  he  lay  upon  the  seat 
where  he  had  fallen,  and  the  handkerchief,  which  was 
still  pressed  to  his  lips,  was  wet  with  blood.  They 
18 


206  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

bore  him  down,  and  through  the  aisle ;  and  when  he 
passed  the  coffin,  he  raised  his  head,  and  gazed  a  mo 
ment  upon  that  calm,  pale  face.  Then  casting  upon 
all  around,  a  farewell  glance,  he  sunk  gently  back,  and 
closed  his  eyes. 


A  few  evenings  after,  I  was  sitting  by  his  bed-side. 
The  bright  glow  of  a  setting  sun  penetrated  the  white 
curtains  of  his  windows,  and  fell  with  softened  lustre 
upon  his  face.  The  shadows  of  the  contiguous  foliage 
were  dancing  upon  the  curtains,  the  floor,  and  the 
snowy  drapery  of  his  bed ;  and  as  he  looked  faintly 
up,  he  murmured,  "It  is  a  beautiful  world:  but  the 
other  is  glorious,  O  very  glorious !  and  my  mother  is 
there,  and  Endicott.  See  !  they  are  beckoning  to  me, 
and  smiling  joyfully  !  —  Mother,  dear  mother,  and 
Endicott,  I  am  coming  !  " 

His  voice  and  looks  expressed  such  conviction  of  the 
reality  of  what  he  saw,  that  I  also  looked  up  to  see 
those  beautiful  spirits.  My  glance  of  disappointment 
recalled  him;  and  he  smiled  as  he  said,  "I  think  it 
was  a  dream ;  but  it  will  be  reality  soon. —  Do  not  go," 
said  he,  as  I  arose  to  call  for  others.  "Do  not  fear, 
sister.  The  bands  are  very  loose,  and  the  spirit  will 
go  gently,  and  perhaps  even  before  you  could  return." 

I  re-seated  myself,  and  pressing  his  wasted  hand  in 
mine,  I  watched, 

"As  through  his  breast,  the  wave  of  life 
Heaved  gently  to  and  fro." 

A  few  moments  more,  and  I  was  alone  with  the  dead. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  207 

We  buried  Winthrop  by  the  side  of  Endicott  W., 
and  the  old  pastor  was  soon  laid  beside  them.  *  *  * 

Years  have  passed  since  then,  and  I  still  love  to  visit 
those  three  graves.  But  other  feelings  mingle  with 
those  which  once  possessed  my  soul.  I  hear  those 
whose  high  vocation  was  once  deemed  a  sure  guarantee 
for  their  purity,  either  basely  calumniated,  or  terribly 
condemned.  Their  morality  is  questioned,  their  sin 
cerity  doubted,  their  usefulness  denied,  and  their  pre 
tensions  scoffed  at.  It  may  be  that  unholy  hands  are 
sometimes  laid  upon  the  ark,  and  that  change  of  times 
forbids  such  extensive  usefulness  as  was  in  the  power 
of  the  clergyman  of  New  England  in  former  days. 
But  when  there  comes  a  muttering  cry  of  "Down  with 
the  priesthood!"  and  a  denial  of  the  good  which  they 
have  effected,  my  soul  repels  the  insinuation,  as  though 
it  were  blasphemy.  I  think  of  the  first  three  pastors 
of  our  village,  and  I  reverence  the  ministerial  office  and 
its  labors, 

"  If  I  but  remember  only, 

That  such  as  these  have  lived,  and  died." 


THE   FURBELOW  ED   BONNET. 

"  GRACIOUS  me  !  Do  look  at  that  girl  with  the  furbe- 
lowed  bonnet!''  exclaims  an  elegant  young  miss,  as 
she  meets  upon  the  promenade  a  country  maiden  who 
is  sporting — with  eyes,  smile,  and  step  exultant — a 
neio  bonnet. 


208  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

The  city  maiden  titters,  ogles  her  gallant,  curls  her 
lips  scornfully,  as  the  furbelowed  bonnet  passes  by, 
and,  by  her  exclamations  of  surprise  and  contempt 
succeeds  in  riveting  the  attention  of  her  companion 
upon  her  own  more  tasteful  head-gear. 

Now  let  us  go  back  to  the  country  girl,  and  to  the 
bonnet  from  the  time  it  first  existed  in  her  fancy.  It  is 
the  first  bonnet  Miss  Rustic  has  ever  selected  for  her 
self.  Her  mother,  with  an  eye  rather  to  comfort  and 
economy  than  taste  and  beauty,  made  all  the  hoods  and 
bonnets  which  she  wore  in  childhood,  to  school  and  to 
meeting.  Since  then,  the  cast-off  bonnets  of  some 
wealthier  cousins  have,  after  a  little  alteration,  served 
all  needful  purposes ;  but  when  she  arrives,  if  not  at 
years  of  discretion,  yet  at  those  of  girlish  ambition, 
and  the  woman  awakens  within  her,  the  desire  to  gra 
tify  her  own  taste  and  secure  the  approbation  or  admi 
ration  of  others,  leads  to  the  contemplation  of  a  new 
bonnet  of  her  own  choice. 

How  shall  she  get  it  7  Why,  her  good  mother  has 
promised  her  all  the  yarn  she  will  knit,  and  her  kind 
cousin  in  the  city  will  pay  her  cash  for  all  the  footings 
she  will  bring  or  send  to  his  store.  So  she  knits  during 
the  long  winter  evenings,  and  even  by  a  pine-torch 
light  during  the  short  winter  mornings,  and  in  the  dis 
tant  school-house  at  the  noon-tide  hour.  While  the 
needles  are  plying  so  dexterously  she  thinks  of  many 
things  that  she  will  purchase,  but  above  all  of  the  new 
bonnet.  In  imagination  it  is  selected,  trimmed,  paid 
for,  and  worn.  She  sees  the  old  ladies  look  through 
their  spectacles  at  her  as  she  exhibits  it  in  the  meeting 
house,  and  even  the  grey-headed  men  cannot  forbear  a 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  209 

passing  glance  at  such  a  new  bonnet.  The  young 
women  and  the  girls  gaze  intently  with  envy,  or  admi 
ration,  or  both,  and  the  young  men  look  curiously  at 
her,  all  but  one,  whose  hasty  glance  betrays  a  far  deeper 
interest  than  mere  curiosity;  and  she  wonders  whether 
he  will  look  with  perfect  satisfaction  upon  the  new 
bonnet. 

But  in  her  "  maiden  meditation"  the  bonnet  is  many 
times  altered,  retrimmed,  and  otherwise  varied;  and 
indeed  there  are  times  when  she  is  wholly  at  a  loss 
about  it.  Sometimes  it  is  of  straw,  sometimes  of  silk, 
and  anon  it  is  of  colored  cambric.  Sometimes  a  frame 
bonnet,  and  then  she  prefers  a  drawn  bonnet.  Then 
again  she  thinks  she  will  not  decide  upon  it  until  she 
goes  to  purchase,  for  there  may  be  something  in  the 
city  more  beautiful  than  she  can  devise. 

The  winter  passes,  and  then  comes  spring.  But  she 
will  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  about  the  new  bonnet. 
The  footings  are  not  all  sold,  and  she  has  not  received 
the  proceeds  of  the  last  package.  And  when  that  is 
settled  the  weather  is  not  established,  and  who  would 
spoil  a  new  bonnet  such  damp,  drizzly  spring  Sabbaths. 
And  when  pleasant  weather  comes  it  is  so  late  that  she 
will  not  buy  until  the  summer  fashions  have  arrived. 

And  when  that  time  comes  something  happens  every 
day  that  she  fixes  for  a  ride  to  the  city.  Father  wants 
the  horse  and  wagon  one  day,  and  mother  has  the 
headache  or  unexpected  company  another,  it  is  rainy, 
or  she  is  invited  from  home  herself,  or  some  other  casu 
alty  prevents,  and  it  seems  as  though  she  were  never 
to  go. 

But  patience  overcome th  all  obstacles,  and  all  in 
18* 


210  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

good  time  she  finds  herself  consulting  the  milliners' 
windows  and  bonnet  racks.  But  after  so  long  self- 
consultation  she  has  grown  chusy  and  "  hard  to  please." 
One  is  pretty  enough,  but  the  price  is  too  high,  another 
would  do  nicely  for  summer  only,  but  hers  must  serve 
in  all  seasons,  excepting  the  stormiest  winter  time,  when 
it  will  do  to  wear  a  hood.  She  fancies  another,  but 
her  judgment  tells  her  that  it  will  not  be  profitable,  for 
it  will  soil  too  quickly,  and  another  is  too  frail,  and 
will  not  last  the  years  that  she  must  make  one  bonnet 
serve. 

A  milliner,  who  is  very  anxious  to  please  her.  at 
length  offers  to  make  one  to  order,  upon  the  spot.  So 
she  chooses  the  frame  after  much  deliberation  upon  its 
probable  strength  and  durability,  and  long  wondering 
whether  it  had  really  better  be  of  "foundation"  or  not; 
and  even  after  the  milliner  has  commenced  operations, 
she  stops  her  to  inquire  whether  she  had  not,  after  all, 
better  purchase  a  "  straw  "  !  But  the  lady  will  not  re 
cede  from  the  prices  fixed  upon  her  good  straw  bonnets, 
and  she  returns  at  length  to  her  "  foundation  muslin 
frame."  Then  succeeds  a  long  consultation  over  the 
different  colored  silks,  with  which  to  cover  it,  but 
finally,  all  are  discarded  as  too  expensive,  and  she  fixes 
her  choice  upon  a  light  brown  cambric  muslin,  which 
will  be  so  good  and  cheap  and  durable,  and  withal  can 
be  taken  off.  washed,  starched  and  ironed  when  it  is 
soiled. 

Then  comes  the  trimming.  That  shall  be  of  the 
same  and  edged  with  "narrow  blonde."  But  this  does 
not  look  gay  enough  after  it  is  done.  AV  ho  would  be 
attracted  by  such  a  sober-looking  bonnet  ?  Indeed 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  211 

some  might  not  notice  that  it  was  a  new  bonnet  after 
all.  There  must  be  some  ribbon  intermingled.  Shall 
it  be  pink  or  blue  or  pale  yellow  ?  She  cannot  decide. 
The  milliner  encourages  her  to  take  two  ribbons,  for 
blue  and  straw  color  will  blend  together  so  prettily.  So 
she  defers  to  her  adviser,  but  when  it  is  nearly  finished 
her  eye  is  attracted  to  a  box  of  cheap  flowers  just 
opened.  O  how  she  wishes  it  were  trimmed  with 
flowers  !  She  did  think  how  much  prettier  it  would 
look,  but  their  flowers  in  the  show  case  were  so  expen 
sive  !  What  a  pity  !  Will  not  the  lady  take  off  the 
ribbon  and  let  her  have  the  flowers  ? 

The  milliner  declines  taking  off  the  ribbon,  but  a 
mischievous  little  apprentice,  with  a  very  demure  face, 
tells  her  that  this  slender  wreath  will  look  beautifully, 
intermingled  with  the  other  trimming.  Our  rustic 
is  over-persuaded  by  her  own  ardent  fancy,  and  the 
artful  suggestions  of  the  little  gipsey,  who  is  stealth 
ily  making  fun  for  all  her  companions  and  for  future 
days. 

The  wreath,  after  much  chaffering  about  the  price  — 
which  is  greatly  reduced  after  the  apprentice  has  whis 
pered  in  the  ear  of  her  employer,  is  purchased  and 
added  to  the  other  trimming.  And  then  comes  the 
"inside  trimming."  There  must  be  narrow  blonde 
about  the  edge  of  the  front,  and  a  lace  cappee  with 
flowers,  and  there  must  also  be  some  blue  and  straw- 
colored  "  taste''  to  match  with  the  ribbon  on  the  outside. 

At  length  the  important  business  is  transacted,  the 
cherished  avails  of  the  winter's  labors  are  nearly  spent, 
but  she  feels  that  they  have  been  wisely  appropriated. 

The  long  day   is  almost  gone ;  but  forgetting  her 


212  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

fatigue  she  takes  her  old  bonnet  in  her  hand,  covers  it 
with  her  kerchief,  dons  the  new  one,  and  steps  out 
upon  the  promenade  as  proud  and  happy  as  any  belle 
in  the  city.  As  she  proceeds  towards  the  place  where 
her  father  will  meet  her  with  the  wagon,  she  sees  many 
eyes  turned  towards  her,  and  is  not  mistaken  in  think 
ing  that  their  glances  are  directed  towards  her  new 
bonnet.  She  does  not  even  imagine  that  those  smiles 
are  of  covert  contempt,  surprise  and  ridicule,  and  the 
open  laugh  she  attributes  to  envy,  or  to  some  cause 
unconnected  with  herself  or  her  new  bonnet.  But  the 
loud  ejaculation  of  the  Miss,  who  draws  attention  upon 
her  own  as  well  as  the  fnrbelowed  bonnet,  almost 
dispels  her  illusion.  She  looks  hard  into  the  face  of 
the  scornful  one,  and  seeing  there  neither  the  expres 
sion  of  kind  nor  refined  feeling,  she  concludes  that  the 
lady  is  also  destitute  of  good  taste,  and  that  her  com 
ments  upon  the  new  bonnet  may  go  for  what  they  are 
worth. 

Yet  Miss  Scornful  has  exquisite  taste  in  dress  —  so 
all  her  admirers  say,  and  they  would  at  this  moment 
point  to  the  bonnet  she  wears  as  proof.  It  is  truly  and 
simply  beautiful.  Her  love  of  rich  trimming,  plumes 
and  brilliant  colors  has  been  gratified  in  her  winter 
hat. 

Her  spring  straw,  with  its  beautiful  bright  wreath 
glittering  with  spanglets,  was  the  envy  of  all  the  young 
misses  in  their  street,  and  during  this  very  day  was 
the  summer  bonnet  chosen  in  her  morning's  shopping 
excursion. 

Passing  by  Mademoiselle  De  Fleury's,  her  eyes  were 
riveted  by  "an  elegant  affair"  a  frame  as  graceful  in 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  213 

its  form  as  an  opening  floweret,  covered  with  "rice 
lace"  as  delicate  as  the  muslin  of  the  Orient,  in  which 
the  dotting  sprigs  and  vine-wreathed  edge  seem  to 
have  sprung  beneath  some  light  and  magic  touch,  as 
flowerets  ornament  the  crystal  which  has  just  been 
traced  by  the  spear  of  the  frost  spirit.  Without  asking 
the  price  she  orders  the  trimming,  of  transparent  tarle- 
ton,  which  is  wound  around  the  crown  in  folds  as  light 
and  graceful  as  those  which  rim  the  turban  of  an  Emir, 
while  the  pale  pink,  which  is  intertwined  beneath, 
sends  through  the  silvery  gauze,  a  blush  as  pure  and 
beautiful  as  that  which  gleams  from  the  interior  of 
some  delicate  shell.  A  slight  rosette,  of  silvery  white 
overshadowing  the  hue  of  the  blush  rose,  rests  like 
a  sweet  blossom  on  the  left  side,  and  the  gauze  strings, 
with  their  exquisite  pink  edge,  stream  on  the  passing 
breeze  like  the  pennon  of  a  naiad.  The  flowers,  which, 
from  within,  lend  their  glow  to  the  pure  airy  lining 
and  the  lily  cheek  on  which  they  rest,  can  but  remind 
one  of  those  lovely  blossoms  which  raise  their  heads 
between  rifts  of  Alpine  snow. 

It  is  elegant !  but  yet  the  same  natural  love  of  the 
beautiful,  the  same  desire  to  secure  admiration,  a  more 
single-hearted  endeavor  to  find  much  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  "  one  alone,"  the  gratification  of  a  girlish  vanity, 
more  harmless,  far  more  free  from  bitter  and  unamiable 
feeling,  have  been  exhibited  by  "  the  girl  with  the 
furbelowed  bonnet." 


214  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


SCENES  ON  THE  MERRIMAC. 

I  HAVE  been  but  a  slight  traveller,  and  the  beautiful 
rivers  of  our  country  have,  with  but  one  or  two  ex 
ceptions,  rolled  their  bright  waves  before  "  the  orbs  of 
fancy"  alone,  and  not  to  my  visual  sense.  But  the 
few  specimens  which  have  been  favored  me  of  river 
scenery,  have  been  very  happy  in  the  influence  they 
have  exerted  upon  my  mind,  in  favor  of  this  feature  of 
natural  loveliness. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  the  "  stream  of  his  fathers" 
should  be  ever  so  favorite  a  theme  with  the  poet,  and 
that  wherever  he  has  sung  its  praise,  that  spot  should 
henceforth  be  as  classic  ground.  Wherever  some 
"gently  rolling  river"  has  whispered  its  soft  murmurs 
to  the  recording  muse,  its  name  has  been  linked  with 
his  ;  and  far  as  that  name  may  extend,  is  the  beauty 
of  that  inspiring  streamlet  appreciated. 

Helicon  and  Castalia  are  more  frequently  referred  to 
than  Parnassus,  —  and  even  the  small  streams  of  hilly 
Scotland  are  renowned  wherever  the  songs  of  her  poet 
"are  said  or  sung."  "  The  banks  and  braes  o'  bonny 
Boon,"  are  duly  applauded  in  the  drawing-rooms  of 
America;  and  the  Tweed,  the  "clear  winding  Devon," 
the  "braes  of  Ayr,"  the  "banks  of  Ballockmyle,"  and 
the  "sweet  Afton,"  so  often  the  theme  of  his  lays,  for 
his  "  Mary  's  asleep  by  its  murmuring  stream,"  are 
names  even  here  quite  as  familiar,  perhaps  more  so, 
than  our  own  broad  and  beauteous  rivers.  Such  is  the 
hallowing  power  of  genius,  and  upon  whatever  spot 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  215 

she  may  cast  her  bright,  unfading  mantle,  there  is  for 
ever  stamped  the  impress  of  beauty. 

"The  Bard  of  Avon"  is  an  honorary  title  wherever 
our  language  is  read ;  and  though  we  may  have  few 
streams  which  have  as  yet  been  sacred  to  the  muse, 
yet  time  will  doubtless  bring  forth  those,  whose  genius 
shall  make  the  Indian  cognomens  of  our  noble  rivers, 
names  associated  with  all  that  is  lofty  in  intellect  and 
beautiful  in  poetry. 

The  Merrimac  has  already  received  the  grateful 
tribute  of  praise  from  the  muse  of  the  New  England 
poet ;  and  well  does  it  merit  the  encomiums  which  he 
has  bestowed  upon  it.  It  is  a  beautiful  river,  from  the 
time  when  its  blue  waters  start  on  their  joyous  course, 
leaving  "the  smile  of  the  Great  Spirit"  to  wind  through 
many  a  vale,  and  round  many  a  hill,  till  they  mingle 
"  With  ocean's  dark,  eternal  tide." 

I  have  said  that  I  have  seen  but  few  rivers.  No ! 
never  have  I  stood 

"  Where  Hudson  rolls  his  lordly  flood  ; 
Seen  sunrise  rest,  and  sunset  fade 
Along  his  frowning  palisade  ; 
Looked  down  the  Appalachian  peak 
On  Juniata's  silver  streak  ; 
Or  seen,  along  his  valley  gleam, 
The  Mohawk's  softly  winding  stream  ; 
The  setting  sun,  his  axle  red 
Quench  darkly  in  Potomac's  bed  ; 
And  autumn's  rainbow-tinted  banner 
Hang  lightly  o'er  the  Susquehanna  ;  "  — 

but  I  still  imagine  that  all  their  beauties  are  concen 
trated  in  the  blue  waters  of  the  Merrimac  —  not  as  it 
appears  here,  where  almost  beneath  my  factory  win- 


216  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

dow.  its  broad  tide  moves  peacefully  along ;  but  where 
by  "Salisbury's  beach  of  shining  sand"  it  rolls  amidst 
far  lovelier  scenes,  and  with  more  rapid  flow.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  it  is  my  river  that  I  think  it  is  so  beautiful 
—  no  matter  if  it  is  ;  there  is  a  great  source  of  gratifi 
cation  in  the  feeling  that  whatever  is  in  any  way 
connected  with  our  humble  selves,  is  on  that  account 
invested  with  some  distinctive  charm,  and  in  some 
mysterious  way  rendered  peculiarly  lovely. 

But  even  to  the  stranger's  eye,  if  he  have  any  taste 
for  the  beautiful  in  Nature,  the  charms  of  the  banks 
of  the  Merrimac  would  not  be  disregarded.  Can  there 
be  a  more  beautiful  bend  in  a  river,  than  that  which  it 
makes  at  Salisbury  Point  ?  It  is  one  of  the  most  pic 
turesque  scenes,  at  all  events,  which  I  have  ever  wit 
nessed.  Stand  for  a  moment  upon  the  draw-bridge 
which  spans,  with  its  single  arch,  the  spot  where  '•  the 
winding  Powow"  joins  his  sparkling  waters  with  the 
broad  tide  of  the  receiving  river.  We  will  suppose  it 
is  a  summer  morning.  The  thin  white  mist  from  the 
Atlantic,  which  the  night-spirit  has  thrown,  like  a 
bridal  veil,  over  the  vale  and  river,  is  gently  lifted  by 
Aurora,  and  the  unshrouded  waters  blush  '-celestial, 
rosy  red,"  at  the  exposure  of  their  own  loveliness. 
But  the  bright  flush  is  soon  gone,  and  as  the  sun  rides 
higher  in  the  heavens,  the  millions  of  little  wavelets 
don  their  diamond  crowns,  and  rise,  and  sink,  and 
leap,  and  dance  rejoicingly  together ;  and  while  their 
sparkling  brilliancy  arrests  the  eye,  their  murmurs  of 
delight  are  no  less  grateful  to  the  ear.  The  grove  upon 
the  Newbury  side  is  already  vocal  with  the  morning 
anthems  of  the  feathered  choir,  and  from  the  maple, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  217 

oak  and  pine  is  rising  one  glad  peal  of  melody.  The 
slight  fragrance  of  the  kalmia,  or  American  laurel, 
which  flourishes  here  in  much  profusion,  is  borne  upon 
the  morning  breeze ;  and  when  their  roseate  umbels 
are  opened  to  the  sun,  they  "  sing  to  the  eye,"  as  their 
less  stationary  companions  have  done  to  the  ear. 

The  road  which  accompanies  the  river  in  its  beau 
teous  curve,  is  soon  alive  with  the  active  laborers  of 
"Salisbury  shore;  "  and  soon  the  loud  "  Heave-ho  !  " 
of  the  ship-builders  is  mingled  with  the  more  melliflu 
ous  tones  which  have  preceded  them.  The  other  busy 
inhabitants  are  soon  threading  the  winding  street,  and 
as  they  glance  upon  their  bright  and  beauteous  river, 
their  breasts  swell  with  emotions  of  pleasure,  though 
in  their  constant  and  active  bustle  they  may  seldom 
pause  to  analyze  the  cause.  The  single  sail  of  the 
sloop  which  has  lain  so  listless  at  the  little  wharf,  and 
the  double  one  of  the  schooner  which  is  about  to  traverse 
its  way  to  the  ocean,  are  unfurled  to  the  morning  wind, 
and  the  loud  orders  of  the  bustling  skipper,  and  the 
noisy  echoes  of  his  bustling  men,  are  borne  upon  the 
dewy  breeze,  and  echoed  from  the  Newbury  slepes. 
Soon  they  are  riding  upon  the  bright  waters,  and  the 
little  skiff  or  wherry  is  also  seen  darting  about,  amidst 
the  rolling  diamonds,  while  here  and  there  a  heavy 
laden  "gundelow"  moves  slowly  along,  "with  sure 
and  steady  aim,"  as  though  it  disdained  the  pastime 
of  its  livelier  neighbors. 

Sucli  is  many  a  morning  scene  on  the  banks  of  the 

Merrimac ;  and  not  less   delightful   are  those  of  the 

evening.     Perhaps  the  sunset  has   passed.     The  last 

golden  tint  has  faded  from  the  river,  and  its  waveless 

19 


218  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

surface  reflects  the  deep  blue  of  heaven,  and  sends 
back  undimmed  the  first  faint  ray  of  the  evening  star. 
The  rising  tide  creeps  rippling  up  the  narrow  beach, 
sending  along  its  foremost  swell,  which,  in  a  sort  of 
drowsy  play,  leaps  forward,  and  then  sinks  gently 
back  upon  its  successors.  Now  the  tide  is  up  —  the 
trees  upon  the  wooded  banks  of  Newbury,  and  the 
sandy  hills  upon  the  Amesbury  side,  are  pencilled  with 
minutest  accuracy  in  the  clear  waters.  Farther  down, 
the  dwellings  at  the  Ferry,  and  those  of  the  Point, 
which  stand  upon  the  banks,  are  also  mirrored  in  the 
deep  stream.  You  might  almost  fancy  that  beneath 
its  lucid  tide  there  was  a  duplicate  village,  so  distinct 
is  every  shadow.  As,  one  by  one,  the  lights  appear  in 
the  cottage  windows,  their  reflected  fires  shoot  up  from 
the  depths  of  the  Merrimac. 

But  the  waters  shine  with  brighter  radiance  as  even 
ing  lengthens ;  for  Luna  grows  more  lavish  of  her 
silvery  beams  as  the  crimson  tints  of  her  brighter  rival 
die  in  the  western  sky.  The  shore  is  still  and  motion 
less,  save  where  a  pair  of  happy  lovers  steal  slowly 
along  the  shadowed  walk  which  leads  to  Pleasant  Val 
ley.  The  old  weather-worn  ship  at  the  Point,  which 
has  all  day  long  resounded  with  the  clatter  of  mischie 
vous  boys,  is  now  wrapped  in  silence.  The  new  one 
in  the  ship-yard,  which  has  also  been  dinning  with 
the  maul  and  hammer,  is  equally  quiet.  But  from  the 
broad  surface  of  the  stream  there  comes  the  song,  the 
shout,  and  the  ringing  laugh  of  the  light-hearted. 
They  come  from  the  boats  which  dot  the  water,  and 
are  filled  with  the  young  and  gay.  Some  have  just 
shot  from  the  little  wharf,  and  others  have  been  for 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  219 

hours  upon  the  river.  What  they  have  been  doing,  and 
where  they  have  been,  I  do  not  precisely  know ;  but, 
from  the  boughs  which  have  been  broken  from  some 
body's  trees,  and  the  large  clusters  of  laurel  which  the 
ladies  bear,  I  think  I  can  "guess." 

But  it  grows  late.  The  lights  which  have  glowed 
in  the  reflected  buildings  have  one  by  one  been  quench 
ed,  and  still  those  light  barks  remain  upon  the  river. 
And  that  large  "gundelow,"  which  came  down  the 
Powow,  from  the  Mills,  with  its  freight  of  '•  factory 
girls,"  sends  forth  "  the  sound  of  music  and  dancing." 
We  will  leave  them  —  for  it  is  possible  that  they  will 
linger  till  after  midnight,  and  we  have  staid  quite  long 
enough  to  obtain  an  evening's  glimpse  of  the  Merri- 
mac. 

Such  are  some  of  the  scenes  on  the  river,  and  many 
are  also  the  pleasant  spots  upon  its  banks.  Beautiful 
walks  and  snug  little  nooks  are  not  unfrequent ;  and 
there  are  bright  green  sheltered  coves,  like  Pleasant 
Valley,  where  "all  save  the  spirit  of  man  is  divine." 

I  remember  the  first  steamboat  which  ever  came 
hissing  and  puffing  and  groaning  and  sputtering  up  the 
calm  surface  of  the  Merrimac.  I  remember  also  the 
lovely  moonlight  evening  when  I  watched  her  return 
from  Haverhill,  and  when  every  wave  and  rock  and 
tree  were  lying  bathed  in  a  flood  of  silvery  radiance. 
I  shall  not  soon  forget  her  noisy  approach,  so  strongly 
contrasted  with  the  stillness  around,  nor  the  long,  loud, 
ringing  cheers  which  hailed  her  arrival  and  accom 
panied  her  departure.  I  noted  every  movement,  as 
she  hissed  and  splashed  among  the  bright  waters,  until 
she  reached  the  curve  in  the  river,  and  then  was  lost 


220  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  view,  excepting  the  thick  sparks  which  rose  above 
the  glistening  foliage  of  the  wooded  banks. 

I  remember  also  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  the  abori 
gines  of  our  country.  They  were  Penobscots,  and 
then,  I  believe,  upon  their  way  to  this  city.*  They  en 
camped  among  the  woods  of  the  Newbury  shore,  and 
crossed  the  river  (there  about  a  mile  in  width)  in  their 
little  canoes,  whenever  they  wished  to  beg  or  trade. 
They  sadly  refuted  the  romantic  ideas  which  I  had 
formed  from  the  descriptions  of  Cooper  and  others ; 
nevertheless  they  were  to  me  an  interesting  people. 
They  appeared  so  strange,  with  their  birch-bark  canoes 
and  wooden  paddles,  their  women  with  men's  hats 
and  such  outre  dresses,  their  little  boys  with  their  un 
failing  bows  and  arrows,  and  the  little  feet  which  they 
all  had.  Their  curious,  bright-stained  baskets,  too, 
which  they  sold  or  gave  away.  I  have  one  of  them 
now,  but  it  has  lost  its  bright  tints.  It  was  given  me 
in  return  for  a  slight  favor.  I  remember  also  one 
dreadful  stormy  night  while  they  were  amongst  us. 
The  rain  poured  in  torrents.  The  thick  darkness  was 
unrelieved  by  a  single  lightning-flash,  and  the  hoarse 
murmurs  of  the  seething  river  was  the  only  noise 
which  could  be  distinguished  from  the  pitiless  storm. 
I  thought  of  my  new  acquaintance,  and  looked  out  in 
the  direction  of  their  camp.  I  could  see  at  one  time 
the  lights  flickering  among  the  thick  trees,  and  darting 
rapidly  to  and  fro  behind  them,  and  then  all  would  be 
unbroken  gloom.  Sometimes  I  fancied  I  could  distin 
guish  a  whoop  or  yell,  and  then  I  heard  nought  but 
the  pelting  of  the  rain.  As  I  gazed  on  the  wild  scene, 

*  Lowell. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  221 

I  was  strongly  reminded  of  scenes  which  are  described 
in  old  border  tales,  of  wild  banditti,  and  night  revels  of 
lawless  hordes  of  barbarians. 

These  are  summer  scenes;  and  in  winter  there  is 
nothing  particularly  beautiful  in  the  icy  robe  with 
which  the  Merrimac  often  enrobes  its  chilled  waters. 
But  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  is  an  event  of  much 
interest. 

As  spring  approaches,  and  the  weather  becomes 
milder,  the  river,  which  has  been  a  thoroughfare  for 
loaded  teams  and  lighter  sleighs,  is  gradually  shunned, 
even  by  the  daring  skater.  Little  pools  of  bluish  water, 
which  the  sun  has  melted,  stand  in  slight  hollows,  dis 
tinctly  contrasted  with  the  clear  dark  ice  in  the  middle  of 
the  stream,  or  the  flaky  snow-crust  near  the  shore.  At 
length  a  loud  crack  is  heard,  like  the  report  of  a  cannon 
—  then  another  and  another — and  finally  the  loosened 
mass  begins  to  move  towards  the  ocean.  The  motion  at 
first  is  almost  imperceptible,  but  it  gradually  increases 
in  velocity,  as  the  impetus  of  the  descending  ice  above 
propels  it  along ;  and  soon  the  dark  blue  waters  are 
seen  between  the  huge  chasms  of  the  parting  ice.  By 
and  by.  the  avalanches  come  drifting  down,  tumbling, 
crashing,  and  whirling  along,  with  the  foaming  waves 
boiling  up  wherever  they  can  find  a  crevice;  and 
trunks  of  trees,  fragments  of  buildings,  and  ruins  of 
bridges,  are  driven  along  with  the  tumultuous  mass. 
A  single  night  will  sometimes  clear  the  river  of  the 
main  portion  of  the  ice,  and  then  the  darkly-tinted 
waters  will  roll  rapidly  on,  as  though  wildly  rejoicing 
at  their  deliverance  from  bondage.  But  for  some  time 
the  white  cakes,  or  rather  ice-islands,  will  be  seen 
19* 


222  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

floating  along,  though  hourly  diminishing  in  size,  and 
becoming  more  "like  angels'  visits." 

But  there  is  another  glad  scene  occasionally  upon 
the  Merrimac  —  and  that  is,  when  there  is  a  launching. 
I  have  already  alluded  to  the  ship-builders,  and  they 
form  quite  a  proportion  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  shore. 
And  now,  by  the  way,  I  cannot  omit  a  passing  compli 
ment  to  the  inhabitants  of  this  same  shore.  It  is  sel 
dom  that  so  correct,  intelligent,  contented,  and  truly 
comfortable  a  class  of  people  is  to  be  found,  as  in  this 
pretty  hamlet.  Pretty  it  most  certainly  is  —  for  nearly 
all  the  houses  are  neatly  painted,  and  some  of  them 
indicate  much  taste  in  the  owners.  And  then  the 
people  are  so  kind,  good,  and  industrious.  A  Newbury- 
port  Editor  once  said  of  them,  "They  are  nice  folks 
there  on  Salisbury  shore ;  they  always  pay  for  their 
newspapers" — a  trait  of  excellence  which  printers 
can  usually  appreciate. 

But  now  to  the  ships,  whose  building  I  have  often 
watched  with  interest,  from  the  day  when  the  long 
keel  was  laid  till  it  was  launched  into  the  river.  This 
is  a  scene  which  is  likewise  calculated  to  inspire  salu 
tary  reflections,  from  the  comparison  which  is  often 
instituted  between  ourselves  and  a  wave-tossed  bark. 
How  often  is  the  commencement  of  active  life  com 
pared  to  the  launching  of  a  ship ;  and  even  the  un 
imaginative  Puritans  could  sing, 

"Life  's  like  a  ship  in  constant  motion, 

Sometimes  high,  and  sometimes  low, 
Where  every  man  must  plough  the  ocean, 
Whatsoever  winds  may  blow." 

The  striking  analogy  has  been   more  beautifully  ex- 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  223 

pressed  by  better  poets,  though  hardly  with  more  of 
force.  And  if  we  are  like  wind-tossed  vessels  on  a 
stormy  sea,  then  the  gradual  formation  of  our  minds 
may  be  compared  to  the  building  of  a  ship.  And  it 
was  this  thought  which  often  attracted  my  notice  to  the 
labors  of  the  ship-wright. 

First,  the  long  keel  is  laid  —  then  the  huge  ribs  go 
up[the  sides  —  then  the  rail- way  runs  around  the  top. 
Then  commences  the  boarding,  or  timbering  of  the 
sides ;  and  for  weeks,  or  months,  the  builder's  maul  is 
heard,  as  he  pounds  in  the  huge  trunnels  which  fasten 
all  together.  Then  there  is  the  finishing  inside,  and 
the'painting  outside,  and,  after  all,  the  launching. 

The  first  that  I  ever  saw  was  a  large  and  noble  ship. 
It  had  been  long  in  building,  and  I  had  watched  its 
progression  with  much  interest.  The  morning  it  was 
to  be  launched  I  played  truant  to  witness  the  scene. 
It  was  a  fine,  sun-shiny  day,  September  21,  1832 ;  and 
I  almost  wished  I  was  a  boy,  that  I  might  join  the 
throng  upon  the  deck,  who  were  determined  upon  a 
ride.  The  blocks  which  supported  the  ship,  were  sev 
erally  knocked  out,  until  it  rested  upon  but  one.  When 
that  was  gone,  the  ship  would  rest  upon  greased 
planks,  which  descended  to  the  water.  It  must  have 
been  a  thrilling  moment  to  the  man  who  lay  upon  his 
back,  beneath  the  huge  vessel,  when  he  knocked  away 
the  last  prop.  But  it  was  done,  and  swiftly  it  glided 
along  the  planks,  then  plunged  into  the  river,  with  an 
impetus  which  sank  her  almost  to  her  deck,  and  carried 
her  nearly  to  the  middle  of  the  river.  Then  she  slowly 
rose,  rocked  back  and  forth,  and  finally  righted  herself, 
and  stood  motionless.  But  while  the  dashing,  foaming 


224  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

waters  were  still  clamorously  welcoming  her  to  a  new 
element,  and  the  loud  cheers  from  the  deck  were  ring 
ing  up  into  the  blue  sky,  the  bottle  was  thrown,  and 
she  was  named  the  WALTER  SCOTT.  It  will  be  remem 
bered  that  this  was  the  very  day  on  which  the  Great 
Magician  died  —  a  fact  noticed  in  the  Saturday  Courier 
about  that  time. 

Several  years  after  this,  I  was  attending  school  in  a 
neighboring  town.  I  happened  one  evening  to  take  up 
a  newspaper.  I  think  it  was  a  Portsmouth  paper;  and 
I  saw  the  statement  that  a  fine  new  ship  had  been 
burnt  at  sea,  called  the  WALTER  SCOTT.  The  particu 
lars  were  so  minutely  given,  as  to  leave  no  room  for 
doubt  that  it  was  the  beautiful  vessel  which  I  had  seen 
launched  upon  the  banks  of  the  Merrimac. 


THE  MAN  OUT  OF  THE  MOON. 

PERHAPS  an  old  nursery  rhyme  occurred  to  some  of 
the  individuals  who  witnessed  the  disappearance  of  the 
man  from  the  moon  one  balmy  summer  evening.  There 
must  at  least  have  been  one  astronomer,  post,  lunatic, 
and  a  pair  of  lovers ;  and  how  many  more  may  not 
easily  be  ascertained.  But  the  moonshine  still  came 
down  so  gently,  and  the  space  vacated  by  that  ancient 
man  was  filled  with  such  calm  brightness,  that  little 
was  said  and  no  commotion  caused  by  his  withdrawal 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  225 

from  that  place  where  he  had  been  an  admired  fixture. 
Had  he  dropped  down  among  any  of  the  evening 
watchers  doubtless  there  would  have  been  a  great  ex 
citement  —  especially  among  children  arid  nurses,  with 
whom  this  man  has  been  an  object  of  greater  interest 
than  any  other  class.  And,  as  every  body  was  once 
a  boy  or  a  girl,  there  might  have  been  a  revival  of 
affection  which  would  have  manifested  itself  in  waving 
of  handkerchiefs,  loud  huzzas,  and  clapping  of  hands  ; 
perhaps  in  ringing  of  bells,  and  firing  of  cannon ;  and 
who  knows  what  fine  dinners  might  have  been  given 
him,  and  concerts,  also,  in  which  a  few  particular  nur 
sery  rhymes  might  have  been  set  to  music  by  Vieux 
Temps,  or  Ole  Bull,  and  the  stranger  almost  paralyzed 
by  the  excess  of  joyous  sensibility.  But  those,  who 
knew  that  he  was  gone,  could  not  of  course  tell  wheth 
er  he  had  started  upon  a  journey  to  the  sun,  or  to 
Venus,  or  Herschel,  or  some  other  place  amongst  the 
stars  ;  and  perhaps  few  of  them  dreamed  that  he  had 
come  on  a  pilgrimage  of  love  to  the  Moon's  great 
satellite,  EARTH.  But,  upon  the  same  principle  that 
"  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore,"  the  inexperienced 
traveller  had  wisely  resolved  that  his  first  voyage 
should  terminate  at  the  nearest  landing-place.  Whether 
those  were  moonstruck  who  first  saw  him 

"  Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Where  a  fair  lady,  throned  by  the  west," 

held  state  upon  a  little  island  —  whether  they  were 
moonstruck  or  not,  matters  little;  but  certainly  no 
skylark  ever  fluttered  into  its  nest  more  unregarded, 
no  eagle  ever  descended  into  its  eyrie  more  untroubled, 
no  snow-rlake  ever  fell  into  its  deep  dingle  more  -un- 


226  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

noticed,  and  no  leaflet  ever  nestled  under  its  shadowing 
rock  more  quietly,  than  the  man  from  the  moon  came 
down,  when  he  alighted  under  the  broad  shadow  of  a 
noble  elm,  in  a  ducal  park. 

The  deer  turned  upon  him  their  large  lustrous  eyes, 
and  darted  away  to  their  leafy  coverts ;  the  rooks 
slowly  wheeled  around  above  his  head,  and  sailed 
upon  the  breezes  to  their  leafy  homes  ;  and  the  watch 
dog  met  him  at  the  portal  with  a  fawn  of  affection.  At 
the  porter's  lodge  had  gathered  some  of  the  juvenile 
nobility,  and  with  the  utmost  courtsey  they  received 
unquestioned  the  remarkable  stranger,  and  invited  him 
to  their  princely  home. 

"  How  beautiful  is  Earth,"  said  the  Man,  as  a  few 
days  afterwards  he  rambled  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
first  pressed  its  soil,  "  and  how  happy  are  her  children. 
Before  I  came  here  I  thought  that  peace  was  more  com 
mon  than  bliss,  that  quiet  was  more  frequent  than  joy ; 
but  hitherto  I  have  investigated  at  a  disadvantageous 
distance,  and  I  here  find  that  my  ignorance  is  prover 
bial.  Nevertheless,  I  have  the  will  and  capacity  to 
learn,  and  the  duke  himself  shall  not  know  more  of 
his  neighbors  than  I  will  ascertain." 

He  bounded  over  the  sweet-briar  hedge,  and  wended 
his  way  to  a  little  hamlet,  which  nestled  between  the 
grove  and  upland  at  a  short  distance.  He  entered  the 
nearest  cot,  and  the  first  sound  which  reached  his  ears 
was  a  cry  for  bread. 

"  Bread —  BREAD  !  "  repeated  he ;  "I  saw  it  given  to 
the  dogs  this  morning.  Bread !  —  there  is  enough  at 
the  castle.  Go  to  the  duchess,  my  child,  she  will  give 
you  enough  of  bread."  The  child  ceased  her  cry,  but 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  227 

looked  at  him  wonderingly,  and  an  elderly  sister  shook 
her  head,  yet  said  nothing.  Then  the  man  heard  a 
moan  from  a  low  pallet,  and,  looking  into  the  dark  re 
cess,  -he  saw  stretched  upon  it  the  emaciated  form  of  a 
woman.  She  called  the  girl  to  her  side. 

"  Is  there  not  a  little  more  wine  in  the  phial  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Not  one  drop,"  was  the  reply.  The  woman  moan 
ed  more  faintly. 

"Wine!  wine!"  repeated  the  Man;  "we  drank 
last  night  at  the  castle  until  our  heads  ached,  and  some 
of  the  company  were  carried  away,  drowned  by  it. 
Wine,  and  bread;"  he  repeated,  as  he  turned  upon 
his  heel,  and  flew  toward  the  castle.  He  entered  the 
drawing-room,  and  a  servant  passed  him  with  a  silver 
salver,  upon  which  were  refreshments  for  the  ladies, 
and  the  sideboard  was  covered  with  various  wines. 
He  grasped  a  bottle,  and,  snatching  the  salver  from 
the  waiter,  he  turned  to  go.  But  the  astonished  do 
mestic  made  such  an  outcry,  and  vociferated  "  Thief! 
Robber  !  "  so  lustily  that  he  was  soon  overtaken.  The 
duke  came  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  tumult. 

"  He  was  stealing  your  silver,"  repeated  the  servant, 
"  after  all  your  kindness  to  him." 

The  duke  looked  at  his  mysterious  guest  with  a  pen 
etrating  eye. 

"  I  saw  a  child  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
your  mansion,"  replied  the  Man,  "  who  cried  for  bread. 
I  saw  also  a  woman  fainting  for  a  cordial,  and  here  I 
knew  that  there  was  enough  of  bread  and  wine.  I  ran 
that  they  might  the  sooner  be  relieved  from  their 
misery." 


228  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

The  duke  blushed  as  he  heard  the  simple  reply  of 
the  Man,  and  almost  doubted  for  the  moment  whether 
he  himself  were  a  man.  Bread  and  wine  were  instantly 
despatched  by  the  servant,  and  the  duke  took  the 
stranger  into  his  closet.  What  he  told  him  there  is 
what  my  readers  already  know  —  that  Want  and  Mis 
ery  stand  even  within  the  sunshine  of  Plenty  and 
Prosperity ;  that  Sickness,  Pain,  and  Death  are  in  the 
daily  paths  of  the  rich  and  powerful ;  that  all  these 
things  are  looked  upon  as  necessary  evils,  and  not  al 
lowed  for  a  moment  to  interrupt  the  usual  course  of 
business  and  amusement.  But  he  could  not  make 
it  appear  to  the  Man  out  of  the  Moon  as  it  did  to  him 
self.  The  more  common  it  is,  the  more  dreadful  it 
seemed  to  this  wanderer  from  another  sphere.  The 
more  difficult  it  appeared  to  find  the  remedy,  the  more 
earnestly  he  thought  it  should  be  sought.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  great  fault  was  in  the  government, 
and  at  the  head  of  government  he  learned  was  a 
lady  as  young,  as  kind,  as  gentle  and  compassionate 
as  the  duke's  eldest  daughter.  He  left  the  castle,  and 
hastened  to  the  capitol.  He  lingered  not  by  the  way, 
but  sights  obtruded  themselves  upon  his  notice  which 
gave  him  much  pain.  He  sought  the  palace ;  he  asked 
audience  of  the  queen.  He  had  brought  no  references, 
no  introductions,  and  could  not  be  admitted  to  the 
young  sovereign ;  but  his  earnestness  gained  him  an 
interview  with  one  of  her  counsellors.  He  had  so 
much  to  say,  and  knew  so  little  how  to  say  it,  his  ideas 
were  all  in  such  confusion,  that  it  was  some  time  be 
fore  the  minister  could  gather  aught  from  him. 

"  To  the  point,"  said  he  at  length.  "  Tell  me,  stran 
ger,  what  you  want." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  229 

"  I  want  RIGHT,"  said  the  Man.  "  I  came  a  stranger 
to  your  land,  and,  at  first,  all  appeared  to  me  very 
beautiful.  But  I  soon  found  hunger,  destitution,  and 
death.  I  inquired  the  cause,  and  asked  for  the  remedy. 
I  was  told  there  was  none ;  but  I  found  that  if  relief 
could  be  obtained,  this  was  the  place  to  look  for  it.  I 
left  for  this  city.  I  hurried  on  my  way ;  but,  unless  I 
shut  my  eyes,  I  could  not  but  see  wrong.  I  have  seen 
huge  heaps  of  grain  converted  into  liquid  poison,  and 
starving  men  drunk  of  it  that  they  might  drown  all  sense 
of  want  and  misery.  I  have  seen  broad  fields  lie  waste 
as  pleasure  ground,  while  squalid  crowds  were  faint  for 
food.  I  saw  a  mighty  ship  filled  with  brave  men ;  and 
their  garments  glittered  with  beauty,  and  gushing 
strains  of  music  stirred  their  noble  hearts.  I  thought 
it  a  glorious  sight,  but  I  learned  that  they  were  sent  to 
kill,  or  be  killed  by  their  fellow-men.  I  saw  a  high 
and  narrow  structure  spring  upward  to  the  sky ;  and 
they  brought  out  a  man,  and  put  him  to  death  between 
the  heavens  and  the  earth.  Crowds  of  men  gazed  up 
ward  at  the  sight,  and  think  ye  not  that  GOD  looked 
down?  I  went  into  an  old  and  moss-grown  church, 
and  there  I  saw  the  man  who  prayed  at  the  gallows; 
and  all  the  people  said  with  him,  '  Be  ye  also  merciful, 
even  as  your  Father,  in  heaven  is  merciful.'  '  For 
if  ye  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses,  how  will 
your  Father,  which  is  in  heaven,  forgive  your  trespass 
es  ?  '  But  the  more  my  spirit  was  pained  within  me 
the  more  I  hurried  to  this  place.  And  when  I  was 
come  I  saw  mighty  palaces  built  for  the  accommoda 
tion  of  a  few,  and  I  saw  also  men  herding  together  in 
filth  and  wretchedness ;  and  those  who  had  not  where 
20 


230  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

to  lay  their  heads.  I  have  seen  warehouses  filled  with 
cloths  for  raiment,  and  stout  men  passed  by  them  with 
scarce  a  rag  to  cover  them ;  yet  touched  they  nothing. 
I  have  seen  bakeries  full  of  bread,  and  storehouses 
filled  with  other  food  :  and  savage-looking  men  proved 
that  they  were  not  yet  fiends,  for  they  did  not  strike 
dead  those  who  withheld  from  them  these  provisions. 
Even  here  I  have  seen  dogs  and  horses  receive  the 
care  and  attention  denied  to  man.  You  ask  me  what 
I  want :  I  want  to  know  if  you  have  known  aught  of 
this  ;  and,  if  so,  why  stand  ye  here  idle  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you  7  ''  rejoined  the  astonished  courtier. 

"  The  Man  out  of  the  Moon." 

"  Aha,  aha  —  a  lunatic  !  I  thought  as  much.  Now 
let  me  see  if  we  have  no^a  nice  place  for  you  which 
you  have  not  yet  espied  ;"  and  calling  the  servants,  he 
ordered  them  to  take  the  man  to  the  hospital. 

But  he  slipped  from  their  grasp,  and  was  soon  out 
of  the  way.  He  strayed  along  the  sea-side,  for  there 
was  there  less  of  the  misery  he  could  not  relieve.  He 
found  a  man  sitting  upon  a  solitary  rock,  and  gazing 
far  out  upon  the  waters.  There  was  that  in  his  eye 
which  told  the  Lunarian  that  here  he  might  meet  with 
sympathy.  So  they  sat  together,  while  the  sea-winds 
moaned  around  them,  and  talked  of  wrong  and  op 
pression. 

"  But  why  do  the  people  bear  all  this  ?  "  asked  the 
Man.  "  Why  do  they  not  rise  up  in  their  strength, 
and  demand  clothing,  food,  and  shelter  ?  Why  do  they 
not  stretch  out  their  hands  and  take  it,  when  almost 
within  their  grasp  ?  Why  at  least  do  they  not  die  as 
men,  rather  than  live  like  beasts  ?  " 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  231 

"  They  are  enchanted"  was  the  reply  of  the  phi 
losopher. 

Then  the  Man  thought  how  impossible  it  would  be 
for  him  to  disenchant  them,  and  he  sighed ;  and  when 
the  philosopher  had  gone  he  unrobed  himself,  and 
spread  his  wings,  and  flew  across  the  channel  till  he 
came  to  another  land. 

We  will  not  follow  him,  as  he  strayed  through  va 
rious  cities,  towns,  and  villages,  along  the  Mediterra 
nean.  But  he  heard  of  it  everywhere  —  he  had  heard 
of  it  before  he  crossed  the  channel — of  a  happy  land, 
far  across  many  wide  waters  —  a  new  world,  where 
tyranny,  oppression,  and  corruption,  had  not  found 
time  to  generate  their  train  of  evils.  He  yearned  for 
this  better  land ;  and  one  night,  when  the  sky  was 
dark  with  sombre  clouds,  and  no  one  could  witness  his 
flight,  he  left  the  old  for  the  newer  continent. 

He  alighted  at  the  plantation  of  a  wealthy  gentle 
man.  With  manly  courtesy  he  was  received,  and  en 
tertained  with  a  chivalrous  generosity  which  asked  no 
questions  of  the  stranger,  and  knew  nothing  but  that  he 
needed  rest.  He  was  truly  weary,  and  spent  some  quiet 
days  in  the  family  of  his  host,  for  whom  he  formed  quite 
an  attachment.  But  one  day,  as  he  was  walking  in 
the  grounds,  he  heard  the  voice  of  piercing  lamentation. 
He  looked  around,  and  saw  a  negro  woman,  with  her 
young  child  pressed  to  her  bosom,  and  sobbing  as 
though  her  heart  would  break.  He  inquired  the  cause 
of  her  sorrow,  and  heard  that  her  husband  had  just 
been  taken  away,  to  be  sold  to  another  master.  Her 
children  had  been  taken  from  her  long  before,  all  but 
the  babe  upon  her  breast. 


232  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STKAND 

The  Man  could  not  understand  this  at  first,  but  after 
long  questioning  he  learned  some  of  the  evils  of  sla 
very.  He  returned  to  his  host.  He  was  sitting  with 
his  wife  at  his  side,  and  his  child  upon  his  knee.  He 
caressed  them  both  with  much  affection.  The  Man 
looked  at  him  sternly. 

"  How  dare  you  love  your  child  ?  "  said  he.  "  How 
dare  you  adore  your  wife  ?  when  you  have  separated 
mother  and  child,  husband  and  wife,  and  consigned 
them  all  to  misery?" 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  replied  the  host,  "  that  you  speak 
thus  in  mine  own  house,  where  as  yet  unquestioned 
you  have  been  honored  and  cherished  as  a  stranger 
and  a  guest." 

"  I  am  the  Man  out  of  the  Moon." 

Then  the  host  laughed  heartily.  "Ah,  moonstruck 
I  see,"  said  he,  carelessly  ;  and  touching  his  head,  he 
nodded  to  his  wife.  After  this  they  would  neither  of 
them  heed  what  he  said,  but  treated  him  good  humor- 
edly,  as  a  maniac. 

In  the  neighborhood,  however,  he  met  not  with  this 
consideration,  for  he  would  not  hold  his  peace  while  he 
believed  a  great  wrong  was  calling  for  redress.  They 
called  him  an  Abolitionist,  and  proposed  assisting  him 
in  his  departure  from  a  place  which  did  not  seem  to 
suit  him  very  well.  They  would  provide  feathers,  if  not 
wings ;  and  attach  them  to  him  with  tar,  as  the  best 
artificial  method.  They  would  not  furnish  him  with  a 
horse,  but  they  found  a  rail,  and  this,  with  the  aid  of 
their  own  locomotive  powers,  would  assist  him  greatly. 

The  Man  felt  as  though  he  would  rather  continue 
free  of  all  such  obligations,  and,  on  the  very  night 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  233 

when  all  things  were  preparing  for  his  exit,  he  spread 
his  wings  upon  the  darkness,  and  flew  away. 

He  had  heard  the  negroes  speak  of  a  land  to  the 
north,  where  there  were  no  slaves,  where  oppression, 
cruelty,  and  selfishness  did  not  exist ;  and  he  thought 
that  must  be  the  better  land  of  which  he  had  so  often 
heard.  He  came  to  its  far-famed  city;  that  where 
morals,  intelligence,  and  prosperity  are  more  nearly 
identified  than  in  any  other.  He  was  pleased  at  first, 
but  soon  became  dissatisfied,  because  it  fell  far  short  of 
his  ideas  of  social  perfection.  Here  also  were  Wealth 
and  Poverty  —  here  were  Misery,  Selfishness,  and 
Pride.  He  saw  a  wealthy  lady  roll  along  in  her  car 
riage,  while  a  feeble  woman  could  hardly  totter  across 
the  streets.  "  The  carriage  would  have  held  more  than 
two,"  said  he  to  himself.  He  followed  the  faltering 
footsteps  until  he  came  to  a  cellar.  The  woman  ap 
proached  a  bed,  upon  which  two  children  were  gasp 
ing  for  breath. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  for  them  ?  "  asked  the  Man. 

"  I  have  just  called  a  physician,"  replied  the  mother. 
In  a  few  moments  he  came  in.  He  looked  tenderly  at 
his  little  patients.  "They  are  dying  of  want,"  said 
he.  "  They  want  every  thing  they  should  now  have ; 
but  first  of  all,  is  the  want,  of  fresh  air."  The  Man 
started  from  the  house  and  ran  to  a  street,  in  which 
was  the  residence  of  an  eminent  philanthropist.  His 
questionings  had  already  led  him  to  a  knowledge  of 
the  good.  He  came  to  the  house.  The  master  was 
not  at  home  —  he  had  gone  to  his  country-seat,  and  his 
mansion  was  vacant,  with  the  exception  of  one  servant 
who  was  left  to  open  the  windows  each  day ;  and  see 
20* 


234 


that  the  cool  air  breathed  through  the  deserted  rooms. 
And,  as  he  looked  at  the  lofty,  well-ventilated  and  va 
cant  apartments,  he  thought  of  the  children  who  were 
dying  in  a  neighboring  cellar  for  want  of  air. 

The  Man  was  wearied,  disappointed,  and  vexed. 
"If  this  is  the  happiest  spot  on  Earth,"  said  he,  "  then 
let  me  go  back  to  the  Moon." 

It  was  a  lovely  starlight  night.  The  moon,  like  a 
silver  crescent,  hung  afar  in  the  blue  ether,  and  there 
was  one  bright  solitary  cloud  in  the  clear  sky.  The 
Man  spread  his  wings,  and,  bidding  farewell  to  Earth, 
he  turned  his  face  upward  to  a  better  home.  As  he 
passed  the  bright  cloud,  he  thought  he  saw,  faintly  de 
lineated  as  though  in  bright  shadow,  the  outlines  of  a 
human  form.  He  approached  nearer,  and  the  cloud 
seemed  like  a  light  couch  upon  which  an  etherealized 
being  reclined.  Lofty  intellect  and  childlike  mildness 
were  blended  in  his  spiritual  countenance,  but  there 
was  a  glance  of  sorrow  in  his  deep  eyes  which  told  that, 
if  an  angel,  he  had  not  forgotten  the  trials  of  earth. 

The  Man  said  to  him,  "I  have  just  left  Earth  for 
the  Moon,  but  I  would  gladly  leave  it  for  any  other 
world.  You  seem  to  have  returned  to  it  from  Heaven." 

"  It  was  my  home,"  replied  the  spirit.  "  There  I 
first  received  existence ;  there  I  first  drew  the  breath 
of  life.  It  was  my  first  home ;  and,  though  I  know 
it  is  full  of  sin  and  sorrow,  yet  at  times  1  leave  Heaven 
that  I  may  view  it  once  again." 

"  And  did  you  know,  while  there,  that  it  was  filled 
with  Guilt,  Ignorance,  and  Pain  ?  or  did  you  neglect 
the  great  interests  of  Humanity  for  selfish  pleasure  7  " 

"I  did  not  live  for  myself  alone.     I  endeavored  to 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  235 

live  for  my  kind,  and  to  find  my  happiness  in  striving 
to  promote  the  well-being  of  others.  I  see  now  that  I 
might  have  done  more,  if  I  saw  it  not  then.  GOD  had 
given  me  a  feeble  frame,  and  I  might  not  go  forth  ac 
tively  among  my  brethren.  But  I  sent  my  voice 
among  them.  I  spoke  aloud  in  behalf  of  the  wronged 
and  downtrodden.  I  spoke  not  of  one  evil,  but  of  that 
which  is  the  source  of  all  evil.  I  spoke  to  the  young, 
knowing  that  they  would  soon  be  the  middle-aged  to 
act,  and  then  the  aged  to  die.  I  sent  my  voice  among 
the  ignorant,  and  invited  them  to  come  to  the  tree  of 
knowledge.  And  my  bliss  is  now  in  the  assurance  I 
have  received,  that  my  words  will  not  all  be  forgot 
ten." 

"  But,  if  you  were  doing  good,"  said  the  Man, 
sternly,  "  why  did  you  go  thence?" 

"  I  was  called,"  replied  the  spirit,  gently. 

"  And  is  there  any  one  who  may  take  your  place  ?  " 

"  I  hope  and  believe  there  are  many  noble  spirits, 
who  are  as  earnest,  as  able,  as  faithful,  and  more  ac 
tive,  who  are  laboring  for  their  brother  men.  But  there 
is  also  another  agent.  Would  you  witness  it?"  and, 
drawing  aside  a  drapery  of  cloud,  he  disclosed  a  shin 
ing  volume.  The  night  breeze  gently  wafted  its  leaves, 
and,  in  letters  of  brightness,  were  written  upon  them 
such  words  as  these : 

"  GOD  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  the 
earth."  "  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 
"  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire."  "  All  things 
whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do 
ye  even  so  to  them."  "  With  what  measure  ye  mete, 
it  shall  be  measured  to  you  again." 


236  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

The  Man  glanced  at  them,  and  then  said,  "  Is  this 
book  there?  " 

"  It  is  there,"  replied  the  spirit,  "  and  there  it  will 
remain  until  its  words  are  embroidered  upon  the  hems 
of  their  garments,  engraved  upon  the  bells  of  their 
horses,  and  bound  as  frontlets  between  their  eyes. 
Yea,  even  until  they  are  impressed  upon  the  hearts 
of  all  men." 

The  spirit  veiled  the  book  again  in  the  aerial  drapery, 
and  disappeared  himself  in  the  bright  cloud. 

The  Man  turned  away,  with  a  spirit  less  sad ;  and, 
ere  morning  dawned,  he  looked  down  again  from  his 
"  old  accustomed  place,"  with  his  usual  placid  smile  ; 
and  none  would  now  know  from  his  benignant  expres 
sion,  that  we,  poor  erring  mortals,  had  ever  grieved 
and  angered  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 


THE  WINDOW  DARKENED. 

I  HAD  a  lovely  view  from  my  window,  but  it  was  not 
of  a  level  landscape,  nor  a  group  of  towering  hills ;  it 
was  neither  city  nor  country  exclusively,  but  a  combi 
nation  of  both.  I  looked  from  the  central  street  of  a 
city  across  a  narrow  strip  of  vacant  land,  divided  by  a 
quiet  stream,  to  a  slope,  covered  with  the  residences  of 
those  who  prefer  the  comparative  stillness  of  the  suburb 
to  the  bustle  of  the  heart  of  a  city. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  237 

It  was  like  a  beautiful  picture —  that  glittering  pan 
orama  —  when  the  sunshine  flashed  back  from  the 
whitened  dwellings,  as  they  rose  one  above  another 
upon  the  green  amphitheatre  —  the  mansions  more  dis 
tinct  and  more  splendid  as  they  approached  the  sum 
mit  of  the  hill,  and  but  two  or  three  magnificent  dwel 
lings  graced  like  a  radiant  crown  its  verdant  brow. 
Yes,  it  was  beautiful  'in  the  glorious  sunlight,  when 
countless  windows  flashed  forth  a  diamond  radiance, 
but  just  as  lovely,  though  more  subdued  in  the  influ 
ence  of  its  charms,  in  the  gray  twilight,  or  at  eve,  or 
moonlit  night. 

I  have  watched  the  footsteps  of  Night,  as  she  crept 
slowly  up  the  hill,  her  dark  shadow  falling  before 
her,  until  the  roof-tree  of  the  highest  mansion  lay  hid 
beneath  her  shroud.  And  then  the  moon,  like  a 
gentle  conqueror,  stole  placidly  above  the  brightening 
horizon,  and  Night  awoke  to  smiles  and  peace.  She 
lifted  her  shroud  from  the  fair  earth,  and  a  gentle  day 
had  dawned  upon  the  world.  Another  day  —  yes,  for 
that  was  no  time  to  sleep  —  it  was  no  night  —  while 
so  soft,  so  exquisite  a  brilliance  bathed  that  congrega 
ted  mass  of  life  and  beauty. 

My  window  !  — it  was  my  only  constant  companion. 
It  told  me  of  sunshine  and  of  storm ;  it  heralded  the 
morn,  and  warned  me  of  the  waning  light  of  day.  It 
gave  me,  gratis,  a  ticket  to  that  picture  gallery,  where 
my  eye  wandered  on  an  involuntary,  though  oft-re 
peated,  tour  of  pleasure. 

My  window  !  —  it  has  taught  me  much  in  quiet 
pantomime ;  and  its  lessons  did  not  weary,  for  they 
were  ever  varying,  and  ever  new. 


238  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

My  window !  —  it  gave  me  light  for  constant  occu 
pations —  it  gave  me  daily  bread  with  the  pleasure 
and  instruction  which  it  afforded  me,  and  my  window 
was  to  be  darkened. 

I  have  alluded  to  the  narrow  waste  beyond  the 
stream.  My  window  told  me  that  there  was  to  be  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  mighty  structure.  It  was  a  sad 
tale  to  hear,  but,  as  if  to  make  amends,  my  window 
each  day  exhibited  an  active,  bustling  and  novel  scene, 
such  as  it  had  not  shown  me  before.  There  were 
shouting  crowds  of  men,  digging  deep  the  trenches  for 
the  foundation  stones,  and  boats  came  up  the  monoto 
nous  stream  with  the  solid  granite  for  their  freight. 
This  continued  so  long  that  I  almost  wearied  of  my 
window's  show;  yet  its  sameness  was  sometimes  va 
ried.  Once  a  heavily  laden  wagon  rolled  backward 
into  a  newly  excavated  pit.  I  witnessed  the  struggles 
of  the  noble  horses  as  they  strove  to  resist  the  impetus 
which  the  vehicle  gathered  while  descending  the  slope, 
and  when  that  was  gone  there  was  a  moment  of  fren 
zied  strength  as  they  endeavored  to  scramble  from  the 
crumbling  earth,  while  their  despairing  efforts  but 
hastened  their  destruction.  I  held  my  breath  as  they 
hung  for  a  moment  between  life  and  death,  and  then 
they  were  gone.  True,  they  were  but  beasts  ;  but  life 
was  now  extinct  with  those  who  had  enjoyed  it,  while 
I  knew  of  those  who  but  bore  it  patiently,  as  a  burden 
of  which  Death  might  kindly  relieve  them.  But  the 
horses  —  there  was  a  useless  running  and  shouting 
when  they  fell  — crowds  gathered  around  the  pit,  and 
gazed  for  awhile  into  its  depths  —  then,  if  I  rightly 
understood  my  window,  spades  were  brought,  and  it 
was  made  a  grave. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  239 

Such  were  the  incidents  which  varied  the  monotony 
of  my  window  scene,  but  after  a  time  this  was  over, 
and  the  walls  were  commenced.  Now  boats  came  up 
the  stream  laden  with  brick,  and  huge  red  piles  arose 
upon  its  banks.  The  red  walls  arose  —  red,  the  color 
of  the  conqueror  —  and  they  proclaimed  a  victory  over 
my  pleasures.  With  one  story  of  the  great  fabric  was 
screened  from  me  whole  streets  of  pleasant  dwellings. 
The  early  sunrise  was  gone  —  the  blush  of  morn  — 
those  brilliant  clouds,  the  orphans  of  departed  Night, 
and  happy  wards  of  coming  day.  The  first  soft  glance 
of  moonlight  was  forever  hid,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
my  best  treasures  were  taken  from  me.  But  I  clung 
more  fervently  to  those  which  were  left,  and  the  more 
tenaciously  as  I  saw  them  departing.  This  beautiful 
dwelling,  and  that  majestic  tree,  were  never  to  me  so 
lovely  as  when  they  were  shut  from  my  window's 
view.  Then  I  began  to  measure  with  my  eye  the 
scene,  and  to  calculate  how  long  I  should  retain  this 
or  that  beauty,  and  what  might  remain  at  the  last. 
The  church  spire  —  that  I  should  always  have  —  and 
those  highest  houses,  and  the  brow  of  the  hill.  But 
no  !  I  had  not  calculated  wisely.  They  began  to  recede 
from  me  —  for  the  huge  building  rose  still  higher  and 
higher.  Men  walked  around  the  scaffoldings,  as  of  old 
they  patrolled  the  ramparts  of  some  giant  castle,  and  at 
night  the  unfinished  walls,  relieved  against  the  dark 
sky,  might  well  remind  a  reader  of  romance  of  the  de 
scriptions  of  ancient  chateaux,  with  their  high  massive 
turreted  walls. 

Higher,  higher  still,  arose  the  fabric.  The  mansions 
were  gone  —  the  church  —  the  brow  of  the  hill  —  and 


240  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

at  last  the  very  tip  of  the  spire  was  taken  from  me. 
Oh  !  how  was  my  window  darkened  !  —  but  not  quite 
dark,  for  there  still  was  light  from  the  skies  above. 

And  thus,  methought,  it  is  in  life.  We  look,  with 
the  eye  of  youth,  through  Hope's  magical  window, 
upon  a  fair  world.  Earth  lies  like  a  glorious  panorama 
before  us.  Our  own  path  leads  on  at  first  like  the 
crowded  street,  amidst  the  hum  of  business,  but  it  soon 
stretches  forward  to  the  place  where  lie  combined  the 
pleasures  and  leisure  of  the  country.  Yes,  our  antici 
pated  life  seems  like  that  brilliant  amphitheatre, 
crowded  and  exciting  at  first,  but  more  quiet,  more 
imposing  and  beautiful,  as  we  look  onward.  The 
minor  details  of  the  scenery  are  not  carefully  scanned. 
We  look  not  at  the  narrow  dusty  paths  through  which 
we  must  go,  nor  at  the  stones  against  which  we  may 
often  dash  our  feet,  nor  the  intruders  who  will  dispute 
our  way.  We  consider  not  that  we  may  falter,  or  faint, 
or  fall ;  and  there  is  always  at  the  top  of  the  hill  some 
mansion  which  is  to  us  the  temple  of  riches,  fame  and 
pleasure.  But  while  we  look  upon  the  scene,  it  sinks 
from  our  view.  The  stern  realities  of  life  rise  before 
us  like  the  brick-built  wall,  and  we  see  the  prose  where 
we  have  before  but  witnessed  the  poetry  of  this  world's 
scenes. 

We  know  that  some  of  our  pleasures  are  passing 
away  —  that  our  window  is  darkening — but  we  think 
that  the  tallest  trees,  the  highest  mansions,  the  summit 
of  the  hill,  will  yet  be  left.  But  sterner  and  higher 
still  arises  the  wall  before  us.  One  hope  after  another 
is  gone  —  one  pleasure  after  another  has  been  taken 
away  —  one  image  after  another,  that  has  been  beauti- 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  241 

ful  to  our  eye,  and  dear  to  our  heart,  has  forever  dis 
appeared.  The  church-spire,  with  its  heaven-pointing 
finger,  symbolical  of  the  outward  ordinances  of  religion, 
leaves  us  last.  But  finally  it  has  been  taken,  and  we 
must  turn  to  whatever  temple  we  may  have  prepared 
within. 

How  has  the  scene  changed !  How  is  our  windpw 
darkened !  Yet  we  grope  not  in  utter  darkness,  for 
there  still  is  light  from  the  heavens  above.  We  are 
subdued  —  with  hearts  rightly  attuned  not  miserable. 
We  look  forward  less,  but  upward  more.  We  are  more 
peaceful,  if  less  joyful;  and  we  transfer  the  bright 
pictures,  which  the  window  has  Daguerreotyped  upon 
our  memories,  to  another  and  more  enduring  world. 
We  think  that  had  the  wall  been  still  higher  —  had  it 
encircled  us  yet  more  closely,  there  would  still  have 
been  light  above;  and,  unless  Heaven  itself  is  shut 
from  our  view,  there  will  be  bright  starbeams,  and 
calm  moonlight,  and  blessed  sunshine,  coming  down, 
and  struggling  towards  us  through  the  darkened  win 
dow. 


21 


POETICAL    PIECES. 


LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  COMET. 

IN    IMITATION    OF    BURNS. 

[THIS  poem  was  written  upon  the  appearance  of  the  comet  of  April,  1843. 
An  allusion  is  made  in  the  fifteenth  verse  to  the  cold  weather  which 
accompanied  it.  The  idea  in  the  eleventh  verse,  was  suggested  by  the 
remembrance  of  the  comet  which  became  entangled  with  Jupiter's  moons, 
and  which  was  decidedly  worsted  in  the  rencounter.] 

WEEL,  stranger  !  fain  I  'd  hae  ye  tell 
Some  sort  o1  tale  about  yoursel ; 
I  dinna  like  ye  very  well ; 

But  mair  if  I  should  ken 
About  your  journeyins  far  an  near, 
An  what  may  be  your  business  here, 

My  manners  it  might  men. 

We,  Yankees,  are  the  anes  to  spier 
What  ye  hae  done  this  mony  a  year  ; 
Will  ye  not  tell  us,  plain  and  clear, 

Where  ye  sae  long  hae  been  ? 
•  Whether  ye  e'er  before  were  here, 
An  where  ye  next  inten  to  steer, 

An  if  ye  '11  come  agen  ? 


244  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

I  told  ye  ance  I  liked  ye  not ; 

I  ne'er  hae  kenned  o'  good  ye  've  wrought 

A  racin  here  an  there  ; 
On  you  we  ne'er  can  keep  an  eye, 
Ye  roun'  creation  feckless  fly, 
A  spinnin  street-yarn  i'  the  sky  ; 

I  think  ye  like  the  air. 


While  far  your  trail  sae  braw  ye  spread, 
Ye've  wit  eneugh  to  hide  your  head  ; 

Ye  've  but  a  peacock's  glory  ; 
I'm  sure  ye  hae  na  ony  brains, 
An  ye  can  hae  but  little  gains  ; 
A  rollin  stane  na  moss  retains, 

Sae  saith  the  guid  auld  story. 


I  'm  sure  I  wish  ye  'd  men  your  ways ; 
I  'd  gladly  gie  ye  mickle  praise, 

For  ance  o'  guid  behavin  ; 
Thae  ither  planets,  stars,  and  things  — 
O'  which  the  poet  aften  sings, 
Sic  joy  to  mony  a  body  brings, 

While  ye  but  set  folk  ravin. 

They  come  to  cheer  the  darksome  night, 
An  o'er  us  shed  their  constant  light, 

While  roun'  an  roun'  ye  're  rinnin  ; 
On  them,  as  on  some  douce  gude  book, 
The  chartless  mariner  may  look  ; 
Their  courses  they  hae  ne'er  forsook, 

An  keep  a  steady  spinnin. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  245 

Ye  'd  better  far,  than  gae  away, 
Now  in  our  universe  to  stay, 

An  be  a  sober  planet ; 
Just  draw  your  trail  up  i'  a  heap  ; 
Like  dormice  when  they  gae  to  sleep ; 
Yet  look  ye  weel  afore  ye  leap, 

Sic  change,  ye  might  not  stan  it. 

Yet  a'  our  Washin'tonians  tell, 
That  reformation  suits  them  well ; 
Some  o'  them  here  cut  quite  a  swell, 

Who  ance  were  waur  than  ye  ; 
Went  rantin  roun',  a  scarin  a', 
The  auld  an  young,  the  great  and  sma', 

Who  i'  their  way  might  be. 

An  ye  now  come  unto  our  warl, 
Like  that  auld  guid-for-nothin  carl, 
Who  fain  wad  into  ruin  hurl, 

Lang  syne,  auld  patient  Job  ; 
As  though  he  'd  not  enough  o'  strife, 
Wi'  half-score  bairns  to  vex  his  life, 
And  then  a  wise  advisin  wife 

As  ony  on  the  globe. 

Fu'  soon  I  ken  ye  '11  gae  away, 
Tho'  Miller  folk  wad  hae  ye  stay  ; 

They  think  ye  '11  list  their  prayer, 
An  say  your  trail  ye  Ml  o'er  us  splash, 
An  gie  us  a'  an  awsome  crash  ; 
The  warl  itsel  will  gae  to  smash  ; 

Ah,  do  it !  gin  ye  dare. 
21* 


246  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

An  yet,  if,  as  sae  mony  say, 

Ye  hit  the  earth,  some  night  or  day, 

It  wad  na  make  me  sad  ; 
This  warl  gaes  steady  as  a  clock, 
She  wad  na  min  your  feckly  shock, 
An  ye  wad  get  an  awfu'  knock, 

An  hurt  ye  very  bad. 

Daft  Miller  thinks  ye  're  but  his  tool ; 
He  '11  fin  himsel  an  April  fule, 

When  ye  shall  gae  away, 
And  gie  us  na  that  mighty  toss, 
Which  a'  the  saunts  will  sen'  across 
Death's  dreaded,  deep,  uncannie  fosse, 

In  glorious  array. 

They'll  waesome  be  when  ye  shall  fail 
To  spairge  'em  \vi'  your  mighty  trail, 
E'en  like  a  flitterin'  harpooned  whale, 

An  heeze  them  i'  the  air ; 
Gin  ye  wad  gie  them  sic  a  ride, 
While  they  amang  the  clouds  did  bide, 
Pray,  what  the  lave  wad  then  betide  ? 

Ye  'd  send  us  sinners  —  where  ? 

I  hae  na  fears  o'  my  salvation  ; 
I'd  sign  ye  na'  a  supplication, 
Tho'  lang's  an  Anti-Slave  petition, 

Ye  'd  fling  it  "  'neath  the  table  ;  " 
I  think  to  do  some  awsome  thing, 
That  on  us  a'  wad  ruin  bring, 
An  ither  tune  wad  make  me  sing, 

Ye  're  willin  mair  than  able. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  247 

Ye  're  workin  a'  your  mischief  now, 
Ye  bring  the  cauld  an  wind  I  trow, 

The  spring  time's  driftin'  snaw, 
The  cynic's  words  to  ye  I  '11  tell, 
Wha,  lang  syne,  i'  a  tub  did  dwell, 
An  said  to  ane,  some  like  yoursel, 

"  Out  o'  my  sunshine,  gae  !  " 

Awa  !  begone  !  an  when  afar, 
Ayont  the  very  farthest  star, 

Ye  fin  ye  're  a'  but  froze, 
Ye  '11  do  agen,  as  now  ye  've  done, 
Come  drivin  back  toward  the  sun, 
Tho'  wise  men  say  (the  claivers  run) 

He  's  cauld  as  pussy's  nose. 

Thae  learned  men  —  I  think  they  're  daft, 
Wi'  a'  their  books  and  scholar  craft, 
They  seem  to  me  as  unco  saft, 

When  puir  folk  they  disturb  ; 
As  tho'  a  body  should  not  live 
Unless  he  know  the  adjective, 

The  plural,  an  the  verb. 

Suith  !  get  ye  gone  !  an  we  will  screel, 
As  loud 's  we  can,  a  last  fareweel, 

Your  exit  when  we  view  it ; 
An  yet,  gude  sake,  't  is  very  true 
That  ye  are  blythe,  an  bonnie  too, 
I  Ml  gie  a  comet  e'en  his  due, 

Or  ane  day  I  may  rue  it. 


248  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


THE  MOUSE'S  VISIT. 

Lines  written,  impromptu,  as  the  incident  occurred.  Perhaps  the  Scottish 
rhythm  was  suggested  by  the  remembrance  of  Burns's  address  to  a 
mouse. 

I  JIST  had  frae  the  snaw-storm  came, 
An  sat  me  cow'rin  down  at  hame, 
For  I  was  crabbit,  dour,  an'  lame, 

An'  thought  to  rest  me  then  ; 
When,  looking  up,  what  should  I  view  ? 
A  mouse  jumpt  i'  my  overshoe, 
Nor  stayed  to  say,  "  Ma'am,  how  d'ye  do  ?  " 

When  back  he  skipt  again. 

It  seemed  e'en  like  some  passing  thought, 
Sae  swift  he  forth  an'  backward  hopt ; 
Sure,  I  'd  hae  thought  he  might  hae  stopt 

To  say,  "  Aweel,"  "  Good  day  ;  " 
But  na,  I  'm  sure  it  was  na  me 
The  wee  bit  thing  had  come  to  see, 

He  thought  me  far  away. 

Quick  to  the  chimla  I  did  hie, 
Thinking  his  lurking  place  to  spy  ; 
I  glinted,  but,  if  I  should  die, 

Could  see  na  whence  he  came  ; 
The  poker  then  I  poked  away, 
The  wood  an'  rug  did  backward  lay, 

An'  served  the  tongs  the  same. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  249 

Save  ane  wee  hole,  i'  the  hearth-stone, 
A  crack  or  crevice  was  there  none  ; 
The  mouse  a  bogle's  feat  hae  done, 

If  he  hae  come  frae  thence  ; 
My  thimble  it  would  na  admit, 
My  thumb  the  place  would  taughtly  fit ; 
I  think  he  must  hae  squeezed  a  bit, 

An'  hath  mair  wit  than  sense. 

Wee  simple  fule  !  why  came  ye  here  ? 
Were  ye  sae  cauld  an'  dark  an'  drear, 
That  ye  maun  try  some  better  cheer 

'Mangst  ither  folk  to  find  ? 
My  air-tight  stove  — ye  're  welcome  there  ; 
Its  warmth  an'  light  ye  ance  may  share  ; 
Say,  how  d'ye  like  its  with'ring  glare  ? 

To  burn  ye  I've  a  mind. 

Ye  weel  might  flee  wi'  mickle  dread 
Sic  murderous  plots  came  i'  my  head, 
As  how  I  'd  get  a  piece  o'  bread, 

Or,  better  far,  o'  cheese, 
An'  put  it  i'  some  cannie  trap 
That,  when  ye  came  again,  would  slap, 
An',  fallin',  gie  ye  sic  a  rap 

Ye  ne'er  again  would  freeze. 

I  '11  do  it  na  — 'gainst  ye  to  war 
Were  too  contemptible  by  far  ; 
I  ne'er  will  Pussy's  honors  share, 

An'  ye  maun  stay  in  quiet ; 
But,  Mousie,  min  ye  ever  this, 
I  'm  ane  they  ca'  an  Editress, 
An'  it  would  cause  me  much  distress 

To  raize  me,  an'  to  riot. 


250  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

An',  should  ye  stay,  I  trust  that  ye 
Will  be  content  to  live,  like  me, 
1'  cheerfu'  calm  celibacy : 

An'  when  I  'm  gane  a  weavin, 
I  'm  willin'  ye  should  loup  an'  prance, 
An',  o'er  my  floor,  your  hornpipe  dance, 

Gin  it  wad  save  some  grievin.' 


But,  should  ye  bring  a  partner  here 

To  scrievin  round,  an'  squeak — O  dear  ! 

Ye  weel  might  tremble  wi'  sic  fear 

As  ne'er  hae  yet  possessed  ye  ; 
For  I  wad  make  a  fearfu'  rout, 
Ye  baith  should  hop  an'  skip  about, 
Sic  help  ye  'd  hae  in  getting  out 

As  never  yet  hae  blessed  ye. 

I  '11  raible  na,  nor  get  sae  warm  ; 
Ye  ne'er  hae  done  me  ony  harm, 

That  I  hae  ever  kenned  ; 
'Tis  true  some  books  hae  flawn  away, 
Some  magazines  hae  gane  astray  ; 
The  blame  on  ye  I  canna  lay  — 

If  guilty  ye  maun  mend. 

An'  if  foul  arts  I  'd  'gainst  ye  try 
I  'd  come  aft'  "  second  best  "  —  for  I 

Ne'er  was  ca'd  douce  —  alack  ! 
I  ne'er  gained  praise  for  being  sly, 
That  I  am  "  green  "  they  aften  cry, 
An'  I  to  them  can  but  reply, 

Better  be  green  than  BLACK. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  251 

Now,  ere  I  cease,  I  '11  e'en  undo 

The  wrangs  o'  which  some  lines  are  fou  ; 

My  ingle  ye  may  share  :  — 
Ye  ne'er  hae  scared  away  a  thought 
Sae  gude  as  these  in  sang  I  've  wrought, 
A  blessing  ance  ye  sure  hae  brought, 

For  verse  wi'  me  is  rare. 

An',  had  ye  na,  sure  ane  sae  weak 
Ne'er  mickle  harm  on  me  could  wreak ; 
I  never  ance  hae  heard  ye  squeak, 

An'  need  na  fear  ye  now  ; 
An'  there  are  those,  who,  should  they  choose, 
'Gainst  me  their  powers  for  ill  to  use, 
Could  work,  for  me,  e'en  more  abuse 

Than  I  for  you,  I  trow. 

An'  let  us  e'er  sic  mercy  grant 

As  we  ane  day  may  wish  an'  want ; 

For  HE,  whose  name  is  LOVE, 
Will  surely  bless  the  kindly  heart, 
That  ne'er  has  caused  anither's  smart, 

An'  gie't  a  place  above. 


252  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


THE    SONG   OF   THE    SHOE. 

So  many  lays  are  sung  in  praise 

Of  all  that 's  good  and  right, 
That  I  believe  mankind  receive 

In  praising  much  delight. 

If  I  could  sing  of  anything 

Ne'er  sung  about  before, 
Such  rhymes  I  'd  string  this  morn  would  ring 

With  loud  and  jovial  roar. 

But  every  man,  of  every  clan, 

Has  more  than  justice  had  ; 
Each  beast  and  bird  has  praises  heard, 

Unless  't  was  very  bad. 

Of  every  root,  and  flower,  and  shoot, 

King  Solomon  once  sung ; 
Of  Fire  and  Light,  of  Death  and  Night, 

Have  modern  praises  rung. 

Why  should  I  dream  of  some  new  theme  ? 

When  all  assert  it  true  — 
The  infidel  will  even  tell 

That  —  "  there  is  nothing  new." 

Yet  may  not  I  for  once  just  try 

My  lyre  to  string  anew ; 
For  no  one  yet,  that  I  e'er  met, 

Has  sung  THE  RUBBER  SHOE. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  253 

Ah  !  many  a  maid,  who  's  ne'er  afraid 

Of  one  man,  or  of  two, 
Would  never  dare  .to  face  the  air, 

At  eve,  without  this  shoe. 

When  summer  showers  wash  earth  and  flowers, 

What  can  a  fair  girl  do, 
If  she  "s  without  a  thick  and  stout 

Elastic  Rubber  shoe  ? 

To  stay  within,  and  knit  or  spin, 

When  all  without 's  inviting, 
When  rainbows  glow,  and  fresh  streams  flow, 

And  gems  the  scene  are  lighting. 

When  hie  away  !  and  skip  !  and  play  ! 

Are  what  we  all  would  do  ; 
She  'd  stay  at  home,  and  fear  to  roam, 
But  for  the  Rubber  Shoe. 

And  when  we  hear  that  Spring  is  near, 

With  skies  so  bright  and  blue, 
We  always  bless,  from  heart's  recess, 

The  India  Rubber  Shoe. 

Though  poets  sing  of  lovely  Spring, 

She  's  always  mud  or  dew  ; 
And  we  our  feet  could  ne'er  keep  neat 

But  for  the  Rubber  Shoe. 

And  we  can  go  through  melting  snow, 

And  slippery  streets  walk  through, 
And  trip  so  nice  o'er  glowing  ice, 

With  an  India  Rubber  Shoe. 
22 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Our  grand-ma'ams  sure  did  much  endure  — 
How  much  they  scarcely  knew  — 

Their  feet  they  wet,  and  colds  did  get, 
For  want  of  a  Rubber  Shoe. 

In  days  "  lang  syne  "  the  sun  did  shine 

Upon  a  world  of  mud, 
And  green  trees  grew,  and  one  dove  flew, 

Where  no  one  yet  had  stood. 

And  Noah's  wife  had  blessed  her  life, 

I  think,  for  one  good  view 
Of  that  which  we  so  thankless  see  — 

An  India  Rubber  Shoe. 

And  Noah's  girls  had  given  their  curls 

If  Japhet,  Ham,  and  Shem 
Could  have  some  boots  —  if  not  sur-touts, 

Some  over-shoes  for  them. 

For,  from  the  ark,  a  beauteous  park 
This  earth  looked  to  that  crew  ; 

Only  't  was  wel,  to  their  regret, 
And  not  a  Rubber  Shoe. 

But  I  must  not  go  back  a  jot 

To  Gentile  or  to  Jew  ; 
But  close  this  song,  which  is  so  long, 

About  the  Rubber  Shoe. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  255 

THE  SEQUESTERED  HARP. 

A    BALLAD. 

A  SWEET-TONED  Harp,  the  artist's  skill 

Had  fashioned  in  a  glen, 
Whose  witching  notes  the  soul  might  thrill 

Of  all  save  soulless  men. 

But  such  seemed  they  to  whom  was  given 

That  mute  though  precious  lyre  ; 
All  wasted  were  its  tones  of  heaven, 

Its  power  the  breast  to  inspire. 

For  none  the  awakening  power  could  bring 

Whose  hand  those  chords  had  swept, 
And  on  each  unregarded  string 

The  hidden  music  slept. 

At  length  unto  that  lovely  glen 

A  mighty  minstrel  came, 
Who,  in  the  homes  of  prouder  men, 

Had  gained  the  meed  of  fame. 

The  stranger  took  the  Harp  awhile, 

That,  (with  a  wonted  pleasure,) 
His  leisure  hours  he  might  beguile, 

And  tuned  the  strings  to  measure. 

Nor  deemed  he  such  a  wondrous  strain 

Those  rude  chords  could  imprison, 
As,  when  he  touched  the  lyre  again, 

Answered  with  notes  Elysian. 


256  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

He  started  at  the  thrilling  sound, 

His  casual  touch  awaking, 
Through  grove  and  valley  rang  around, 

The  glen's  deep  stillness  breaking. 

As  up  into  the  far  blue  sky 
The  harp-freed  music  sprang, 

With  echoes  of  that  melody 
The  wilchvale  loudly  rang. 

The  rustics  round  the  harper  stood, 

And  marvelled  at  his  skill ; 
As  strains  of  gay  or  plaintive  mood 

Responded  to  his  will. 

"  Was  this  the  Harp,"  they  loudly  cry, 
"  Which  we  so  disregarded  ? 
And  had  this  wealth  of  melody 

Beneath  its  chords  been  hoarded  ?  " 

And  oft,  when  day's  hard  toil  was  o'er, 
And  eve  brought  hour  for  leisure, 

They  gathered  round  the  harper's  door, 
To  list  the  lyre's  sweet  measure. 

But  the  minstrel  tired  of  the  lonely  glen, 

And  far  away  went  he  ; 
He  left  the  Harp  with  those  humble  men, 

When  he  passed  o'er  the  deep  blue  sea. 

Long  years  went  by  ;  and  when  once  more 
He  greeted  his  native  strand, 

The  mingled  dust  his  sandals  bore 
Of  many  a  distant  land. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  257 

For  he  had  trod  the  stately  halls 

Of  England's  youthful  queen, 
And  round  "  auld  Scotia's  "  mouldering  walls 

His  form  had  erst  been  seen  ; 

And  he  had  stood  where  brilliant  skies 

Bend  over  beauty's  home, 
And  classic  temples  greet  the  eyes 

Beside  a  Moslem  dome. 

And  then  he  went  where  Afric's  sun 

Its  deserts  through  ages  has  fired ; 
And  in  haunts  which  the  love  of  ease  would  shun, 

He  faltered  never,  nor  tired. 

He  went  where  the  idolized  crocodile  creeps 

In  the  Nile's  long-hallowed  wave, 
And  where  the  ancient  Pharaohs  sleep 

Within  their  mountain-like  grave. 

He  had  stood  where,  with  deep,  majestic  flow, 

The  Euphrates  rolls  his  tide  ; 
And  where,  with  murmurings  scarce  more  slow, 

The  waves  of  the  Jordan  glide. 

And  the  pilgrim's  foot  had  pressed  the  height, 

To  the  Christian  all  sacred  still, 
Though  Omar's  mosque,  with  splendor  bright, 

Now  stands  on  Zion's  hill. 

There  was  not  a  consecrated  spot 

Of  deserted  Palestine, 
But  the  minstrel  still  unwearied  sought,  — 

To  him  't  was  a  sacred  shrine. 
22* 


258  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

And  when  lie  returned,  't  was  a  theme  for  the  songs 

Which  delighted  each  listening  ear, 
And  around  him  were  gathered  admiring  throngs, 

The  chanted  tradition  to  hear. 

»          And  he  thought  not  then  of  the  harp  he  had  left 

So  desolate,  hung  on  the  willow, 
Which  seemed  of  each  wakening  impulse  bereft, 
When  he  crossed  o'er  the  rolling  billow. 

Not  a  thrilling  note,  or  rapturous  tone, 

Had  been  drawn  from  those  harp-strings  since  then, 

Or  aught,  save  a  low  and  heart-searching  moan, 
When  the  night  breezes  swept  through  the  glen. 

But  at  length  into  that  secluded  dell 
The  minstrel  came  gladly  again, 
And  they  brought  him  the  harp  he  had  loved  so  well, 
Ere  he  traversed  the  heaving  main. 

But  one  master-sweep  o'er  the  trembling  strings, 
And  one  glad  word  over  them  spoken  ; 

Then  a  paean  of  joy  through  the  wild  glen  rings, 
And  the  wind-worn  harp  lies  broken. 


OF  THE  SEA  OF  GENIUS.  259 


THE  TASK  OF  DEATH. 

PART     FIRST. 

Now  the  morning  sun,  on  the  old  church  tower, 

Is  throwing  its  crimson  light ; 
And  a  shadowy  form,  at  that  early  hour, 

Is  roused  from  the  slumbers  of  night. 
He  sitteth  him  down  in  the  grave-yard  dank, 

'Neath  the  cypress,  old  and  tall ; 
Where  the  gloomy  nightshade  groweth  rank, 

And  the  weeds  overtop  the  wall. 

An  aspect  all  ghastly  and  pale  he  wears, 

But  he  hath  neither  pulse,  nor  breath  ; 
And  the  quiver  of  darts,  that  he  ever  bears, 

Proclaims  that  his  name  is  —  DEATH. 
Alone,  seated  there  on  the  cold,  damp  ground, 

Amid  the  mementoes  of  woe, 
How  mournfully  strange  is  the  fearful  sound 

Of  his  muttering,  wild  and  low. 

"  'T  was  a  good  day's  work,  and  they  've  dug  the  graves 

For  the  victims  of  yesterday  ; 
How  joyously  now  each  dark  yew  waves, 

As  in  glad  sympathy. 
We  well  may  rejoice,  for  I  have  stilled 

The  wailings  of  woes  and  of  fears  ; 
I  have  broken  the  cups  that  T  found  were  filled 

With  misery's  bitterest  tears. 


260  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

"  The  first  that  I  found  on  the  yestermorn 

Was  an  aged  man,  and  lone  ; 
A  wandering  outcast  —  forsaken,  forlorn, 

And  shelter,  and  food,  having  none. 
Then  I  wrapped,  with  my  shroud,  his  wasted  frame, 

As  my  merciful  hand  he  blessed ; 
And  a  gladsome  smile  o'er  his  features  came 

When  I  bade  him  lie  down  to  his  rest. 

"And  next,  a  sight  more  mournful  was  seen, 

A  girl  who  was  weary  of  life  ; 
This  world  must  ever  look  dark,  I  ween, 

To  the  mother,  but  never  a  wife. 
Then,  as  all  other  friends  forsook, 

On  me,  in  accents  wild, 
She  called  ;  and,  in  my  arms,  I  took 

The  mother,  and  the  child. 

I  saw  a  matron,  wan,  and  pale, 

A  vile  inebriate's  wife  ; 
She  was  too  gentle,  and  too  frail, 

For  Fate's  relentless  strife  ; 
I  was  about  to  pass  her  by, 

But  she  faintly  whispered  Death  ! 
I  met  her  mild  imploring  eye, 

And  then  —  I  took  her  breath. 
The  drunkard  looked,  with  a  stricken  heart, 

On  the  relics  of  his  bride  ; 
He  screamed  — then  wildly  snatched  my  dart, 

And  they  laid  him  by  her  side. 

"  But  I,  for  to-day,  have  another  plan  ; 

I  will  go  where  they  wish  me  not, 
To  the  haunts  of  the  proud,  and  prosperous  man, 
Where  "  The  Terror  King  "  now  is  forgot. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  261 


To  them  it  shall  be  a  horrible  day, 

And  the  strong  shall  be  the  weak  ; 

In  vain  they  '11  implore  me  to  turn  away, 
And  obey  me,  with  a  shriek." 


PAKT      SECOND. 

The  church  gleamed  forth,  through  the  golden  flood 

Of  morn's  increasing  light ; 
And  the  glittering  spire,  above  it  stood, 

In  a  sheen  of  glory  bright. 
Now,  merrily  out,  from  that  old  church  tower, 

Rings  the  chime  of  marriage  bells  ; 
Woe  !  woe  !  to  the  bride  !  if  the  coming  hour 

Her  young  heart  with  rapture  swells. 

She  is  standing  there,  'midst  her  bridal  maids, 

A  merry,  and  "  snow-white  choir," 
With  the  orange  bloom  in  her  shining  braids, 

But  quenched  is  her  eye's  bright  fire. 
And  ever  it  groweth  more  sadly  wild 

As  the  bell  more  loudly  peals  ; 
And  that  face,  which  once  was  so  soft  and  mild, 

An  emotion  strange  reveals. 

They  have  waited  long  for  the  wished-for  smile  ; 

They  have  checked  each  rising  tear  ; 
They  have  striven  forebodings  to  beguile  ; 

And  have  lulled  each  fancied  fear. 
But  see  !  from  that  wild  despairing  eye, 

A  joyous  light  brilliantly  gleams  ; 
As  when,  at  eve,  o'er  the  Arctic  sky, 

Aurora  transiently  streams. 


262  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

She  hath  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  phantom  dark, 

Who  intrudes  on  the  festive  hour  ; 
Yet  little  do  those  around  her  mark 

That  Death  's  in  the  bridal  bower. 
"  She  sees  a  hand,  they  cannot  see, 

Which  beckons  her  away  ; 
She  hears  a  voice,  they  cannot  hear, 

Which  bids  her  not  delay." 

"  O  Death  !  O  Death  !  I  gladly  will  go, 

For  thee  have  I  waited  long  ; 
Thy  voice,  to  others  oft  bringing  but  woe, 

Is  sweeter  to  me  than  their  song. 
They  never  have  dreamed  of  the  misery 

I  had  hidden  within  this  breast ; 
They  have  little  thought  there  was  agony 

That  could  make  thee  a  welcome  guest. 
And  when,  by  others,  bade  to  wed, 

I  felt  my  fate  was  sealed  ; 
So  faint  was  every  power,  and  dead, 

Nought  could  I  do  but  yield. 

"  Thou  wonderest,  Death  !  but  bethink  thee  now 

Of  a  fair  and  noble  youth, 
To  whom  I  had  breathed  my  earliest  vow, 

I  had  pledged  my  love,  and  truth. 
Thou  hast  broken  the  bands  we  secretly  wove, 

Thou  hast  snatched  him  rudely  away  ; 
But  the  vows  which  we  made  are  recorded  above, 

And  I  '11  wed  with  him  to-day. 
Yes,  lay  me  quickly  down  by  his  side, 

His  own  and  unperjured  one  ; 
For  I  never  could  be  a  faithful  bride, 

But  to  thee,  and  him  alone." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  263 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Death,  "  where  there 's  been  no  past 

The  joys  of  the  present  to  dim  ; 
To  the  infant  all  sorrows  but  transiently  last, 
And  life  ever  looks  brilliant  to  him." 

So  he  went  where  a  child,  in  its  innocent  charms, 

Was  sporting  in  joyous  play  ; 
And  he  took  the  babe  from  his  mother's  arms, 

To  carry  him  far  away. 

"  O  Death  !  O  Death  !  thou  art  foolish  now  ; 

That  young  boy  knoweth  not  thee, 
Thou  hast  laid  thine  hand  on  his  fair  white  brow, 

And  it  gently  stilleth  his  glee. 
Thy  shadow  is  passing  over  his  sight, 

But  he  thinks  it  the  twilight  hour  ; 
It  darkens  now,  he  believes  it  is  night, 

And  still  have  thy  terrors  no  power. 
He  scarcely  starteth  thy  voice  to  hear, 

Believing  he  's  chanted  to  rest, 
And  calmly,  as  thou  wert  his  mother  dear, 

He  has  laid  him  to  sleep  on  thy  breast." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Death,  "where  they  '11  know  me  well, 

Nor  my  voice  be  unconsciously  heard  ; 
They  shall  shiver,  and  shrink,  at  my  merciless  spell, 
And  tremble  with  awe  at  my  word." 

Where  a  mother  sat,  'midst  her  household  band, 

That  Terror  King  must  go. 
"  O  stay,  I  pray  thee,  Death !  thine  hand, 

Deal  not  at  her  a  blow. 
Her  cheek  is  blenched,  but  not  with  fear, 

As  she  listens  to  thy  command, 


264  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STKANI) 

And  without  a  sigh —  without  one  tear, 
She  takes  thee  now  by  the  hand." 

"  O  Death  !  O  Death  !  I  knew  thou  wouldst  come, 

That  thus  thine  entrance  might  be, 
I  never  have  looked  on  this  earth  as  a  home, 

Or  aught  but  a  troubled  sea  — 
And  the  city,  to  which  life's  frail  bark  sails, 

Is  Jerusalem  the  new  ; 
And  we,  or  with  kind,  or  with  adverse  gales, 

That  haven  should  keep  in  view. 

"  Thou,  thou,  O  Death  !  art  the  pilot  kind 

To  guide  the  mariner  home  ; 
Now  guided  by  thee,  my  Saviour  I  '11  find  ; 

Jesus  !  to  Thee  I  come. 
Yet  ere  from  the  loved  ones  I  pass  away, 

I  would  bid  them  a  fond  farewell ; 
They  know  not  the  joys  of  a  dying  day, 

Its  bliss  no  tongue  may  e'er  tell. 

"  My  husband,  weep  not!  for  the  love  of  years 

May  not  pass  with  the  fleeting  breath  ; 
We  have  journeyed  long  through  this  vale  of  tears, 

Nor  divided  can  be  by  Death. 
My  children,  weep  not !  —  though  the  grave  looks  drear, 

And  fearfully  dark  to  your  view, 
Yet  to  me  't  is  a  portal,  all  bright  and  clear, 

To  a  mansion  created  anew. 

"  And  from  thence  I  will  watch,  if  permitted  it  be, 

O'er  the  ones  I  have  cherished  on  earth  ; 
I  will  mingle  unseen,  and  noiselessly, 

With  the  band  at  my  household  hearth. 
But  if  this  may  not  be,  there  '$  a  watchful  eye, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  265 

That  never  can  slumber,  or  sleep  ; 
There  's  a  Friend,  and  Preserver,  who  '11  ever  be  nigh, 
My  orphan'd  ones  kindly  to  keep. 

"  Now,  Death  !  I  will  willingly  go  with  thee, 

For  thou  canst  not  enchain  me  long  ; 
And  to  HIM,  who  my  sure  Deliverer  will  be, 

Shall  be  lifted  a  joyful  song. 
For  I  shall  live  in  that  terrible  day 

When  the  skies  like  a  scroll  have  fled  ; 
When  the  very  earth  shall  have  passed  away, 

And  when  even  DEATH  is  dead." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Death,  "  where  the  Christian's  hope, 

And  faith,  have  not  been  known  ; 
Those,  whom  I  call,  through  my  valley  must  grope 
Unguided,  and  alone." 

Where  a  young  man  stood,  in  a  gorgeous  hall, 

Death  aimed  his  relentless  blow  ; 
He  means  that  the  joyous  carnival 

Shall  be  changed  to  a  scene  of  woe. 
Must  he  leave  that  young  and  beautiful  bride  ? 

Must  he  leave  that  princely  state  ? 
Must  he  go,  from  this  splendor  and  this  pride, 

On  thee,  dread  King  !  to  wait  ? 
Must  his  eyes  be  sealed  to  the  pageant  proud, 

They  now  are  preparing  for  him  ? 
Must  his  ears  be  closed  to  their  plaudits  loud  ? 

The  shout,  and  the  choral  hymn  ? 

"  O  Death  !  O  Death !  thou  'rt  a  welcome  guest, 
Though  I  deemed  not  that  thou  wast  near, 
But  I  willingly  lay  me  down  on  thy  breast, 
23 


266  SHELLS    FROM    THE    STRAND 

And  thy  voice  I  willingly  hear. 
Thou  kindly  hast  come  to  keep  me  from  shame, 

From  contempt,  where  they'd  gladly  deride ; 
Thou  alone  canst  preserve  my  newly  won  fame, 

And  the  love  of  my  innocent  bride. 

"  Thou  knowest  not,  Death  !  of  the  fearful  past 

Thy  victim  had  long  been  concealing  ; 
That  at  hand  was  the  day  for  stern  justice,  at  least, 

And  that  were  too  dark  for  revealing. 
It  was  life,  and  not  death,  which  would  bring  a  dread, 

To  him,  who,  in  youth's  thoughtless  prime, 
By  the  arts  of  the  wicked  was  recklessly  led 

To  folly,  ah  yes,  and  to  —  crime. 

"  The  crime  was.  concealed,  but  the  envious  now 

Are  madly  displacing  the  shroud  ; 
Their  efforts  will  cease,  when  they  learn,  Death,  that  tho 

The  lofty  one  suddenly  bowed. 
Now  my  wife  shall  ne'er  know  that  a  felon's  lot 

She  shared  so  unconsciously  here  ; 
And  the  wreath  which,  with  life,  from  my  temples  ha 

dropped, 
Will  be  evergreen  over  my  bier." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Death,  "  where  crime  and  despair 

Have  never  as  yet  caused  a  groan  ; 
To  seclusion,  so  peaceful  and  happy,  that  there 
Nor  shame,  nor  remorse  can  be  known." 

To  a  strange  old  turret  the  tyrant  went, 

Where,  afar  from  the  world's  rude  din, 

The  life  of  a  student  was  happily  spent 
By  the  wise  old  man  within. 

And  calmly  up  the  philosopher  stood, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  267 

And  welcomed  the  spectre  grim  ; 
He  was  ne'er  to  be  brought  to  a  trembling  mood, 
Even  Death  could  not  terrify  him. 

"  O  Death  !  O  Death  !  thy  form  I  can  tell, 

Though  I  never  have  seen  thee  before  ; 
But,  in  books,  I  have  studied  thee  long  and  well, 

And  I  wish  for  their  teachings  no  more. 
I  have  tired  of  all  they  call  wisdom  on  earth, 

I  have  found  it  but  vanity  ; 
To  but  vain  desires  can  it  ever  give  birth, 

And  from  these  I  would  gladly  be  free. 

"  I  have  entered  the  temple  of  Science  to  find 

But  its  outer  court  open  to  me  ; 
For  it  ne'er  is  permitted  a  mortal  mind 

To  fathom  her  mystery. 
Yes,  knowledge,  to  me,  has  been  like  a  cave 

In  which  I  must  enter  alone  ; 
In  the  light,  which  my  flambeau  so  fitfully  gave, 

Its  spars,  and  stalactites  shone  — 

"  There  was  beauty  there,  but  it  transiently  beamed, 

There  was  splendor  contrasted  with  gloom, 
When  I  grasped  at  the  gem  which  most  brilliantly  gleamed, 

Its  light  would  then  cease  to  illume. 
I  have  striven  to  thread  its  devious  ways, 

But  't  was  labor  spent  vainly  by  me, 
They  have  never  proved  aught  but  a  labyrinth  maze, 

My  reward  but  perplexity. 

"  I  found  myself  mocked,  when  some  inner  retreat 

I  thought  my  hard  labors  had  crowned, 
With  beauty  undimmed,  and  with  riches  replete  ; 
'T  was  beyond  an  impassable  bound. 


268  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Life  now  is,  to  me,  but  a  wearisome  coil, 

Its  fetters  a  festering  chain, 
Its  labors  are  each  but  a  thankless  toil, 

Its  pleasures  are  empty  and  vain. 

"  I  have  stood,  like  a  boy,  on  the  wave-beaten  shore 

Of  a  broad  arid  boundless  sea;* 
There  were  treasures  untold  in  the  vast  depths  before, 

But  the  stones  on  the  strand  were  for  me. 
I  would  fain  overleap  those  barrier  waves,  * 

And  descend  to  the  regions  below ; 
Of  its  coralline  groves,  and  gem-brightened  caves, 

Of  its  beauty,  and  wealth,  would  I  know. 

"  Yes,  Death,  I  will  go  —  for  I  've  heard  them  speak 

Of  a  world  that  is  better  than  this  ; 
The  faith  they  believed,  I  derided  as  weak, 

To  know  it  were  true  would  be  bliss. 
I  gladly  would  drink  at  the  fountain  where 

The  taster  shall  thirst  ne'er  again  ; 
Can  the  soul's  deep  yearnings  be  satisfied  there  ? 

O  Death,  have  they  hoped  it  in  vain  ? 
But  the  question,  pondered  most  long  and  deep, 

Shall  be  solved  o'er  breathless  clay, 
If  we  lie  down  to  an  endless  sleep, 

Or  wake  to  eternal  day." 

TART      THIRD. 

Now  the  evening  sun,  on  the  old  church  tower, 

Is  throwing  a  halo  bright ; 
And  its  slender  spire,  in  that  radiant  hour, 

Stands  up  like  a  spear  of  light, 

*  "  I  seem  to  myself  like  a  boy  picking  up  pebbles  upon  the  shore,  while 
the  vast  ocean  of  knowledge  lies  undiscovered  before  me." — Sir  Isaac 
Newton. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  269 

While  out  from  the  tower  the  clear  solemn  sounds 

Of  the  vesper  bell  pealeth  aloud, 
A  dark  form  flits  o'er  the  new-made  mounds, 

Like  the  shade  of  a  passing  cloud. 

He  sitteth  him  down  in  the  grave-yard  dank, 

'Neath  the  cypress  old  and  tall ; 
Where  the  gloomy  nightshade  groweth  rank, 

And  the  weeds  overtop  the  wall. 
While  seated  there,  on  the  cold  damp  ground, 

He  muttereth  deep  and  low  ; 
That  strange  wild  voice  breathed  a  fearful  sound, 

Like  wail  when  night  breezes  blow. 

"  My  day's  work  is  done,  and  they  've  dug  the  graves 

For  those  I  have  taken  to-day  ; 
And  the  dark-leaved  yew  now  mournfully  waves 

O'er  the  buried  of  yesterday. 
A  matron  I  took,  both  now,  and  then, 

A  damsel  I  took,  and  a  child  ; 
There  were  young  men  taken,  and  each  called  when 

Life's  mid-day  sun  had  just  smiled. 
There  were  old  men  too — but  the  task  was  in  vain 

I  allotted  myself  for  this  day  ; 
My  terrors  were  treated  by  all  with  disdain, 

And  they  gladly  went  with  me  away. 

"  There  's  a  POWER  above  which  the  mind  can  bring 

To  receive  me  joyfully  ; 
As  it  pleaseth  HIM  can  I  have  a  sting, 

Or  the  grave  a  victory. 
I  '11  accomplish  the  task  HE  's  assigned  to  me, 

For  the  work  is  not  chosen,  but  given, 
And,  henceforth,  will  the  faithful  messenger  be 
Of  the  HOLY  ONE  of  Heaven." 
23* 


270  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


LAST  EFFORT  OF  THE  POETESS. 

NAY,  ask  not,  and  think  not,  again  I  may  lay 

A  tribute  upon  our  shrine  ; 
For  the  gift  and  the  spirit  of  poesy, 

I  now  may  not  claim  as  mine. 

Yet  often  before  me,  by  night  and  by  day, 

Have  visions  of  loveliness  passed, 
Like  the  shadowy  forms  which  people  dreams, 

With  a  beauty  that  may  not  last. 

And  vainly  I  've  prayed  that  the  magical  power 

Might  once  more  be  given  to  me, 
To  picture  them  forth  with  a  pencil  so  true, 

That  others  their  beauty  might  see. 

But  Oh  !  there  's  a  sickness  within  my  heart, 
There  's  a  feverish  whirl  in  my  brain ; 

And  the  clear,  bright  thoughts  of  earlier  days, 
May  never  be  mine  again. 

Yet  I  would  not  heed  the  temple's  throb, 

Nor  the  pulse's  feverish  thrill, 
So  that  feelings  and  powers  which  once  were  mine, 

Might  gladden  my  being  still. 

Again  I  would  drink  at  that  sparkling  fount, 

But  its  waters  in  vapor  arise  ; 
And  the  misty  wreaths  which  around  me  curl, 

Only  dim  and  bewilder  my  eyes. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  271 

And  wildly  invoking  the  forms  of  the  past, 
They  come  at  the  sound  of  my  breath  ; 

But  they  stand,  as  the  prophet  of  old  arose, 
Arrayed  in  the  mantle  of  death. 

And  silently  I  shall  depart  to  my  rest  — 

For  mine 's  not  the  swan-like  power, 
To  breathe  forth  a  sweeter  and  lovelier  lay, 

The  nearer  the  dying  hour. 

Yet  haply,  ere  Death  in  his  wasting  career, 

His  robe  o'er  my  weakness  hath  cast, 
My  spirit  may  hearken,  and  vividly  hear 

A  strain  of  the  shadowy  past. 


272  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


THE  TRUE  MOURNER. 

THE  King  of  Scotland,  James  VI.,  ordered  his  courtiers  to  appear  at  the 
palace  in  mourning,  at  the  announcement  of  the  murder  o/  his  mother, 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  One  nobleman  came  in  complete  armor,  as  the 
mourning  suit  best  befitting  this  occasion. 

THE  deed  was  done  ;  and  Scotland's  Queen 

A  murdered  victim  lay  ; 
For  England's  minions  well  I  ween 

Their  ruthless  queen  obey. 

And  Scotland's  king  sends  forth  his  word 

That  all  to  him  repair, 
With  sable  weeds,  to  Holyrood, 

Those  emblems  of  despair. 

A  thronging  host  surround  their  king 

With  mantle  black  and  plume  ; 
With  sounds  of  woe  the  court-yards  ring, 
The  palace  rests  in  gloom. 

But,  see  !  that  dark-robed  host  among 

That  mailed  intruder  dare  ; 
Yet  he,  of  all  the  sable  throng, 

Was  the  true  mourner  there. 

The  corselet  pressed  a  swelling  breast ; 

The  casque  concealed  hot  tears  ; 
The  sword,  which  scarcely  lay  at  rest, 

Fit  mourning  badge  appears. 


OF    THE   SEA    OF    GENIUS.  273 

Thus  should  we  grieve  whene'er  we  see 

Our  fellow-men  oppressed ; 
Our  sisters,  "  by  one  holy  tie," 

With  wrongs  all  unredressed  ; 

Not  tamely  should  sit  down  and  mourn, 

But  nerve  us  for  the  fight ; 
Should  gird  our  sword  and  armor  on, 

And  battle  for  the  right. 


274  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


"HE  IS  NOT  HERE  — HE  IS  RISEN." 

MOTHER!  weep  not  o'er  the  new-made  grave 

Of  the  child,  who  was  taken  so  soon  from  your  care, 

Come  not  again  where  the  young  willows  wave, 
Breathe  here  no  more  the  broken  heart's  prayer  ; 

This  is  no  place  for  the  sigh  and  the  tear, 

Thine  infant  has  risen  —  it  lieth  not  here. 

Father !  who  prayest,  as  never  before, 

That  strength  may  be  given  to  drink  of  this  cup  ; 

The  joy  of  thine  age,  of  thy  being,  is  o'er, 

Thy  hope  has  been  taken,  but  still  bear  thee  up  — 

Bend  not  in  agony  over  this  bier, 

Thy  son  has  arisen  —  he  lieth  not  here. 

Sister!  who  seekest,  in  twilight  and  gloom, 

The  place  where  the  loved  and  departed  doth  lay, 

Though  the  form  is  now  resting  within  this  dark  tomb, 
And,  mouldering  to  dust,  is  now  the  cold  clay  — 

Yet,  life  for  thy  hope,  and  death  for  thy  fear, 

Thy  brother  has  risen  —  he  lieth  not  here. 

Brother  !  who  comest,  at  even-tide, 

To  mourn  for  the  friend  of  thy  childhood  and  youth, 
The  dead  and  the  living  by  faith  are  allied, 

And  the  grave  is  now  whispering  this  gladdening  truth, 
"  Weep  not  for  him,  who  once  was  so  dear, 
Thy  friend  has  arisen  —  he  lieth  not  here." 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  275 

Maiden  !  who  comest  and  breathest  thy  moan, 

Bending  in  agony  over  this  dust, 
Hope  for  the  future  !  and  this  shall  atone 

For  the  stroke  which  has  shaken  thy  love  and  thy  trust — 
Faith  bids  thee  look  up,  where  he  will  appear, 
For  the  loved  one  has  risen  —  he  lieth  not  here. 

Widow  !  who  gazest  far  over  the  deep, 

Shrouding  the  form  which  sank  there  to  rest, 

'Neath  the  blue  waves  the  earthly  may  sleep, 
But  the  spirit  has  gone  to  the  land  of  the  blest  — 

Those  waters  will  evermore  chant  to  thine  ear, 

Thy  husband  has  risen  —  he  lieth  not  here. 

Christian !  wherever  a  grave  hath  been  made, 

On  whate'er  spot  may  a  monument  rise, 
In  whate'er  place  may  a  corse  have  been  laid, 

Thence  there  is  pealing  this  chant  to  the  skies, 
Loudly  it  soundeth,  and  ever  more  clear  — 
"  The  spirit  has  risen  —  it  cannot  lie  here." 


276  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


LAMENT   OF    THE   LITTLE    HUNCHBACK. 

OH,  ladies,  will  you  listen  to  a  little  orphan's  tale  ? 

And  pity  her  whose  youthful  voice  must  breathe  so  sad  a 

wail ; 
Nor  shrink  so  from  the  wretched  form,  obtruding  on  your 

view, 
As  though  the  heart,  which  in  it  dwells,  must  be  as  loathsome 

too. 

Full  well  I  know  that  mine  would  be  a  strange,  repulsive 

mind, 
Were  the  outward  form  an  index  true  of  the  soul  within  it 

shrined  ; 

But  though  I  am  so  all  devoid  of  the  loveliness  of  youth, 
Yet  deem  me  not  as  destitute  of  its  innocence  and  truth. 

And  ever  in  this  hideous  frame,  I  strive  to  keep  the  light 
Of  faith  in  God,  and  love  to  man,  still  shining  pure  and  bright ; 
Though  hard  the  task,  I  ofttimes  find,  to  keep   the  channel 

free, 
Whence  all  the  sweet  affections  flow  to  those  who  love  not 

me. 

I  sometimes  take  a  little  child  quite  softly  on  my  knee, 

I  hush  it  with  my  gentlest  tones,  and  kiss  it  tenderly ; 

But  my  kindest  words  will   not  avail,  my  form  cannot  be 

screened, 
And  the  babe  recoils  from  my  embrace,  as  though  I  were  a 

fiend. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  277 

I  sometimes,  in  my  walks  of  toil,  meet  children  at  their  play; 
For  a  moment  will  my  pulses  fly,  and  I  join  the  band  so  gay  ; 
But  they  depart  with  hasty  steps,  while  their  lips  and  nostrils 

curl, 
Nor  e'en  their  childhood's  sports  will  share  with  the  little 

crooked  girl. 

But  once  it  was  not  thus  with  me  ;  I  was  a  dear-loved  child  ; 
A  mother's  kiss  oft  pressed  my  brow,  a  father  on  me  smiled  ; 
No  word  was  ever  o'er  me  breathed,  but  in  affection's  tone, 
For  I  to  them  was  very  near  —  their  cherished  only  one. 

But  sad  the  change  which  me  befell,  when  they  were  laid  to 

sleep, 
Where  the  earth-worms,  o'er  their  mouldering  forms,  their 

noisome  revels  keep  ; 
For  of  the  orphan's  hapless  fate  there  were  few  or  none  to 

care, 
And   burdens  on  my  back  were  laid,  a  child  should  never 

bear. 

And  now,  in  this  offensive  form,  their  cruelty  is  viewed  — 
For  first  upon  me  came  disease  —  and  deformity  ensued  : 
Woe  !  woe  to  her,  for  whom  not  even  this  life's  earliest  stage, 
Could  be  redeemed  from  the  bended  form,  and  decrepitude 
of  age. 

And  yet  of  purest  happiness  I  have  some  transient  gleams  ; 
'T  is  when,  upon  my  pallet  rude,  I  lose  myself  in  dreams: 
The  gloomy  present  fades  away  ;  the  sad  past  seems  forgot ; 
And  in  those  visions  of  the  night,  mine  is  a  blissful  lot. 

The  dead  then  come  and  visit  me  :  I  hear  my  father's  voice ; 
I  hear  that  gentle  mother's  tones,  which  make  my  heart  re 
joice  ; 

24 


278  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Her  hand  once  more  is  softly  placed  upon  my  aching  brow, 
And  she  soothes  my  every  pain  away,  as  if  an  infant  now. 

But  sad  is  it  to  wake  again,  to  loneliness  and  fears  ; 

To  find  myself  the  creature  yet  of  misery  and  tears  : 

And  then,  once  more,  I  try  to  sleep,  and  know  the  thrilling 

bliss, 
To  see  again  my  father's  smile,  and  feel  my  mother's  kiss. 

And  sometimes,  then,  a  blessed  boon   has  unto  me  been 

given — 

An  entrance  to  the  spirit-world,  a  foretaste  here  of  heaven  •, 
I  have  heard  the  joyous  anthems  swell,  from  voice  and  golden 

lyre, 
And  seen  the  dearly  loved  of  earth  join  in  that  gladsome 

choir. 

And  I  have  dropped  this  earthly  frame,  this  frail,  disgusting 

clay, 

And,  in  a  beauteous  spirit-form,  have  soared  on  wings  away; 
I  have  bathed  my  angel-pinions  in  the  floods  of  glory  bright, 
Which  circle,  with  their  brilliant  waves,  the  throne  of  living 

light. 

I  have  joined  the  swelling  chorus  of  the   holy,  glittering 

bands, 
Who  ever  stand  around  that  throne,  with  cymbals  in  their 

hands : 
But  the  dream  would  soon  be  broken  by  the  voices  of  the 

morn, 
And  the  sunbeams  send  me  forth  again,  the  theme  of  jest  and 

scorn. 

I  care  not  for  their  mockery  now  —  the  thought  disturbs  me 

not, 
That,  in  this  little  span  of  life,  contempt  should  be  my  lot  ; 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  279 

But  I  would  gladly  welcome  here,  some  slight  reprieve  from 

pain, 
And  I  'd  murmur  of  my  back  no  more,  if  it  might  not  ache 

again. 

Full  well  I  know  this  ne'er  can  he,  till  I  with  peace  am  blest, 
Where  the  heavy-laden  sweetly  sleep,  and  the  weary  are  at 

rest ; 
Where  these  lips  shall  be  forever  sealed,  earth's  weary  toil 

be  done, 
And  Death  shall  throw  his  friendly  shroud  o'er  the  unsightly 

one. 


280  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


THE  LAME  CHILD  TO  HER  MOTHER. 

MOTHER,  what  makes  you  look  so  sad  ?  a  tear  is  in  your  eye, 
Your  breast  with  sighs  doth  often  heave,  mother,  what  makes 


you  cry 


Is  it  for  me,  your  crippled  girl,  that  thus  you  often  weep, 
That  fear  and  grief  with  withering  touch  across  your  heart 
strings  sweep  ? 

I  know  I  am  a  helpless  one  ;  my  steps  may  never  fall 
With  bounding  gladness  at  your  side,  or  in  my  father's  hall ; 
For  I  dependant  still  must  be  as  lengthening  years  pass  by, 
An  infant  in  my  helplessness  till  in  the  grave  I  lie. 

But  this  is  not  the  cause  that  brings  such  scalding  tears  from 

thee, 

It  is  not  that  I  ne'er  can  be  of  any  use  to  thee  ; 
It  is,  I  know,  because  you  think  my  childish  heart  is  sad, 
But,  mother  dear,  though  I  am  lame,  there  's  much  to  make 

me  glad. 

My  sisters  bring  their  garlands  bright,  of  fresh  and   lovely 

flowers, 

They  bring  to  you  the  berries  plucked  in  merry  leisure  hours. 
I  do  not  this,  but  while  I  sit,  my  muslin  is  inwrought 
With  fruits  and  flowers  as  beautiful,  as  those  that  they  have 

brought. 

Then,  as  my  snowy  wreaths  I  place  around  your  neck  and 

head, 
I  think  that  they  will  still  be   fresh  when  all  of  theirs  are 

dead. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  281 

And  if  I  with  my  pencil  trace  the  scene  they  make  so  gay, 
My  sketch  will  still  delight  them  all  when  they  have  ceased 
to  play. 

And  oft  the  children's  merry  sports  my  bounding  heart  will 

share, 

I  seem  to  feel  the  merry  swing  that  rushes  through  the  air, 
I  'm  first  to  know  who  's  out  and  in,  I  watch  the  bounding 

ball, 
And  almost  start,  as  down  it  comes,  to  catch  it  ere  it  fall. 

But  when  they  choose  their  plays  afar,  that  I  ne'er  see  or 

share, 

Why  then  I  take  my  book  and  sit  in  my  small  easy-chair ; 
The  pleasant  things  I  often  read  sure  I  should  never  know 
If  1  could  dance  and  run  about  where  other  children  go. 

I  sometimes  think  the  guests  that  come,  and  praise  my  active 

mind, 

Who  linger  oft  around  me  so,  and  look  so  pleased  and  kind, 
That  they  would  pass  me  quickly  by,  and  scarcely  ask  my 

name, 
But  that  I  am  a  little  girl,  and  oh,  so  very  lame. 

It  seemeth  too  that  I  have  more  of  my  kind  father's  love, 
Because  my  helplessness  and  pain  doth  his  compassion  move, 
He  often  strains  me  to  his  heart,  and  takes  me  on  his  knee, 
And  tells  me  of  his  fondest  love,  and  speaks  so  tenderly. 

How  blessed  is  my  lot  in  this,  the  ill  that  on  me  came 
Has  opened  every  heart  to  me,  and  yet  I  'm  only  lame  ; 
For  with  their  love  and  sympathy  I've  still  such  blessings 

left, 

The  outward  world  is  not  to  me  of  loveliness  bereft. 
24* 


282  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Had  I  been  blind  —  had  earth  ne'er  been  thus  glorious  to 

mine  eye, 
Could  ne'er  have  watched  the  sparkling  stars,  or  seen  the 

clouds  go  by, 
What  pleasure  lost  would  this  have  been,  that  now  is  bliss  to 

me, 
But  I  can  now  admire  them  all,  dear  mother,  I  can  see. 

The  joyous  sounds  of  morning  ring  now  gaily  in  mine  ear, 
The  pensive  tones  of  even-tide,  these  also  I  can  hear, 
The  strains  of  joy  from  human  voice  that  float  upon  the  air, 
All  sounds  of  sorrow  or  delight  with  others  I  can  share. 

But,  better  far  than  this  the  thought,  that  I  can  fondly  love, 
That  deeper  feelings  rest  with  me,  because  I  cannot  rove, 
All  fond  affections  in  my  heart  are  nursed  by  constant  thought, 
And  this,  dear  mother,  is  a  gift  I  still  to  you  have  brought. 

At  times  I  'm  sad,  because  on  earth,  my  limbs  should  thus 

be  bound, 

But  then  I  raise  my  thoughts  to  HIM  whose  love  is  all  around, 
To  whom  we  never  need  to  go,  save  with  our  hearts  in  prayer, 
Who  keeps  the  humblest  little  child  in  His  unfailing  care. 

And  oft  I  think  of  that  blest  time,  when,  free  in  every  limb, 
I  '11  wing  my  way  up  to  His  throne,  and  be  still  nearer  HIM, 
Then,  mother,  in  that  perfect  birth,  I'll  bless  His  holy  name, 
That,  when  HE  fashioned  me  for  earth,  HE  made  me  only 
lame. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  283 


THE    DREAM-LAND. 

I. 

THERE  's  a  beautiful  land  —  't  is  the  land  of  dreams  ; 
'T  is  watered  by  sparkling  though  ideal  streams, 
'Tis  blessed  with  a  balmy  and  unchanging  clime, 
Has  vales  of  green  beauty,  and  mountains  sublime  ; 
'T  is  laved  by  an  ocean  ne'er  tossed  by  rude  storms, 
'T  is  peopled  with  slight  and  aerial  forms, 
'Tis  shadowed  by  clouds,  of  all-glorious  dies, 
Which  sail  o'er  the  depths  of  cerulean  skies  ; 
Its  sun  shines  unclouded  o'er  cities  of  gold, 
The  wealth  of  its  temples  may  never  be  told, 
Its  palaces  glow  with  the  radiant  light 
Of  diamonds  and  rubies  and  gems  ever  bright  ; 
Its  groves  with  rich  fragrance  stand  ever  arrayed, 
Its  flowers  are  of  brilliance  that  never  may  fade, 
Its  fountains  send  upward  their  unbroken  gleams, 
And  a  beautiful  land  is  the  land  of  dreams. 

II. 

1  love  from  earth's  toils,  from  its  sorrows,  to  hie, 
And,  on  Fancy's  light  wings,  to  the  dream-land  I  fly, 
To  hear  the  lo  v  hymns  of  the  soft  waving  trees, 
And  the  anthem  the  waterfall  sings  to  the  breeze, 
The  loud  hallelujahs  which  constantly  rise 
Where  the  cataract  lifteth  its  voice  to  the  skies. 
But  sweeter  than  these  are  the  musical  tones 
Of  the  joyous,  the  cherished,  the  beautiful  ones, 


284  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Who  come  to  me  there  with  unfaltering  voice, 

And  bid  me  be  fearless,  take  heart,  and  rejoice. 

Oh,  these  are  the  friends  who  never  grow  old  ; 

And  theirs  is  the  love  which  never  seems  cold  ; 

I  hear  the  glad  tones  of  affection,  which  fall 

On  mine  ear  with  an  accent  which  never  may  pall, 

And  my  heart  swelleth  high  as  it  lists  to  that  word 

Which  save  in  the  dream-land  it  never  hath  heard. 

There  the  ties  which  we  form,  Death  never  may  break, 

There  the  friends  are  all  true  —  they  never  forsake, 

They  turn  not  away  —  they  never  seem  strange, 

In  the  dream-land  is  friendship  which  never  may  change. 

III. 

Yes,  I  go  to  the  dream-land  —  and  there  I  grow  strong 

To  bear  the  sad  burden  of  sorrow  and  wrong, 

Which  Earth  presseth  hard  on  the  neck  of  her  child, 

And  leaveth  it  seldom  by  gladness  beguiled. 

I  never  hope  here  for  the  joys  of  that  land, 

But  'midst  its  dark  tempests  more  firmly  I  stand, 

For  I  think  that  at  times  from  its  storms  I  can  flee, 

Where  there  's  brightness,  unminglcd  with  darkness,  for  me  ; 

I  hear  with  more  calmness  the  edicts  of  fate 

When  I  think  of  the  pleasures  which  still  can  elate  ; 

I  look  with  a  tenderness  on  the  lost  friend 

Whose  affections  I  early  had  mourned  at  an  end, 

For  I  find  in  the  dream-land  the  sympathy  lost, 

The  love  which  or  death  or  estrangement  had  crossed. 

Then  my  heart  is  renewed  as  it  bathes  in  the  bliss 

Which  it  finds  in  that  land,  but  expects  not  in  this, 

And  mine  eye  drinketh  in  the  full  brightness  which  streams 

In  an  unfailing  flood  o'er  the  blessed  land  of  dreams. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  285 


IV. 

There  are  times  when  my  soul,  with  a  purer  delight, 

Plumes  its  wings  for  another,  and  holier  flight; 

When  it  seeks  for  its  joy  and  its  strength  at  the  throne 

OF  THE  HIGH  AND  THE  HOLY  ALL-GLORIOUS  ONE  ; 

When  it  looketh  afar,  o'er  the  shadows  of  earth, 

And  over  the  land  where  dreams  have  their  birth, 

It  craveth  a  foretaste  of  heavenly  joy, 

Of  bliss  which  is  real,  yet  hath  no  alloy ; 

Where  our  dear  ones  have  life,  but  death  never  know  ; 

Where  all,  which  in  fondness  we  cling  to  below, 

Is  transferred  in  beauty  to  regions  on  high, 

Where  the  bright  is  the  fadeless  —  the  frail  may  not  die, 

Where  the  fair  and  the  noble  are  all  that  they  seem, 

And  truth,  love,  and  gladness,  are  aught  but  a  dream. 


286  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 


ROOM   FOR   THE   DEAD. 

THE  following  lines  were  suggested  by  hearing  an  allusion  to  that  beautifal 
Swedenborgian  superstition,  that  the  dead,  though  invisible,  are  ever 
around  us. 

"  Ye  are  not  dead  to  us  ; 

But  as  bright  stars  unseen, 
We  hold  that  ye  are  ever  near, 

Though  death  intrudes  between, 
Like  some  thin  cloud,  that  veils  from  sight 
The  countless  spangles  of  the  night." 

ROOM  for  the  dead  ! 

O,  let  them  come,  with  gentle  noiseless  tread, 
And  hold  communion  sweet,  once  more, 
With  those  that  they  have  loved  in  days  of  yore. 
As  though  we  heard  their  voices  in  the  air, 
For  the  departed  ones  we  will  prepare  : 
Nay,  but  they  are  not  gone ;  for,  even  yet, 
Among  the  fire-side  circle  they  shall  sit ; 
Bringing,  to  earth,  their  blessings  from  afar, 
Like  light  and  guidance  of  some  brilliant  star. 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Here  let  that  old  man  come,  with  silvered  head  ! 
And,  though  ye  may  not  see  him  sitting  there, 
Yet  taketh  he  again  the  old  arm-chair, 
And  casts  around  a  look  benign,  while  we 
Bend,  as  in  youth,  to  him  the  filial  knee. 
His  trembling  hand  shall  rest,  ere  he  depart, 
Upon  my  head  ;  "his  blessing  on  my  heart. 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  287 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

For  her  who  erst  my  infant  footsteps  led  ! 
Who  loved  me,  with  a  mother's  holiest  love; 
And  keepeth  watch,  from  her  bright  home  above, 
Save  when  she  comes,  with  unseen  step  and  smile, 
And  bids  me  wait  here  patiently  awhile, 
Enduring  all,  with  firm  unwavering  faith, 
And  looking  calmly  for  approach  of  Death  ! 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

For  those  with  whom  such  bright  hours  sped, 
When  we  have  met,  in  light  and  careless  play, 
And  frolicked  childhood's  sunny  hours  away. 
They  were  an  angel  band  —  and  Death  hath  made 
No  change,  save  that  by  changdesmess  conveyed  : 
Theirs  is  the  lot  of  an  immortal  youth; 
They  come  to  me  with  childhood's  love  and  truth. 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Brother,  return !  thou  bringest  here  no  dread, 
Though  thou,  'neath  Ocean's  waves,  wast  laid  to  sleep, 
My  faith  shall  bid  thee  rise,  and  walk  upon  the  deep  : 
H^re  thou  shalt  meet  with  those  who,  'neath  the  sod, 
Have  left  the  body  to  await  its  Maker  —  GOD. 
And  thou  shalt  tell  them  Death  is  e'er  the  same, 
Whether  he  come  in  wave,  or  sword,  or  flame. 
Re  om  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  loved  one ;  whom,  in  youth,  I  wed 
Back  to  my  arms  and  heart,  O,  let  him  come, 
And  gladden,  with  his  presence,  slill  this  home. 


288  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STEAND 

Then  I  will  wipe  my  widow's  tears  away, 
Again  with  him  I'll  kneel,  and  softly  pray; 
I  '11  sit,  and  gaze  with  rapture,  in  his  eyes, 
And  sing,  with  him,  the  song  of  Paradise. 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

For  him  o'er  whom  my  poor  wrung  heart  has  bled  ; 
Now  let  me  see  my  cherub  boy  once  more, 
And  all  a  mother's  fondness  o'er  him  pour  ; 
'T  was  Heav'n  that  gave,  and  Ileav'n  that  took  away, 
And  I  with  resignation  well  may  pray, 
Since  joy  is  mine,  that,  on  my  throbbing  breast, 
My  child  again  may  lie,  and  take  sweet  rest. 
Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Room  for  the  dead  ! 

Come  ye  for  whom  my  board  hath  oft  been  spread ; 
Seats  are  prepared,  and  we  a  feast  will  make, 
Of  which  the  u-nseen  ones  may  well  partake. 
Here  we  our  converse  joyfully  will  hold, 
Of  Heaven,  its  King,  its  courts,  and  streets  of  gold  — 
This  earth  shall  grow  more  beautiful  as  we 
Lift  up  the  veil,  that  hides  eternity, 
And  happiness  our  homes  will  ne'er  forsake, 
If,  at  our  hearths  and  boards,  we  ever  make 
Room  for  the  dead. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  289 


THE  HEATHEN  WIFE. 

They  answered  and  said  unto  Ezra,  "  We  have  trespassed  against  our  GOD 
and  have  taken  strange  wives  of  the  people  of  the  land  ;  yet  now  there  is 
hope  in  Israel  concerning  this  thing.  Now,  therefore,  let  us  make  a 
covenant  with  our  GOD  to  put  away  all  the  wives,  and  such  as  are  born  of 
them,  according  to  the  counsel  of  my  lord,  and  of  those  that  tremble  at 
the  commandment  of  our  GOD  ;  and  let  it  be  done  according  to  the  law." 

BIBLE. 

MEENA. 

AND  now  the  evening's  light,  like  garment  pale, 
Hangs  o'er  Jerusalem.     The  arching  heavens, 
Without  one  cloud  to  break  the  stern  deep  blue. 
Enclose  the  scene  ;  as  though,  its  pure  embrace 
Within,  it  held  a  purer  earth  than  skies 
Of  distant  lands  e'er  look  upon.     That  moon  afar  — 
See  how,  like  a  thin  burnished  shred  of  clouds 
Once  there,  she  in  the  ether  hangs  —  as  she 
Were  but  a  lone  and  modest  guest  in  that 
Far  sky,  and  gives  to  us  her  placid  smile 
That  Earth  may  holier  if  not  brighter  seem. 
The  breezes  now  sing  pensively  their  hymn 
To  the  hushed  earth,  and  Jordan's  waves  send  back 
A  murmur  of  response.     Save  these  I  hear 
No  sound  but  breathings  faint  of  my  hushed  babe. 
I  wish  the  boy  would  wake,  for  e'en  his  cries 
To  still  were  better  far  than  here  to  sit 
So  fearfully  alone.     This  is,  mayhap, 
As  I  have  often  heard,  a  sacred  land ; 
But  ah,  to  me  its  holiness  is  gloom  ; 
Its  temple  is  a  place  for  awe  and  fear : 
25 


SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Its  priests  are  solemn  men,  whose  glances  fierce 
Strike  in  my  soul  deep  dread.     Those,  too,  whom  once 
I  pitied  much,  and  cheered  and  smiled  upon, 
The  daughters  of  the  land,  look  on  me  cold 
And  proud  ;  not  as  mine  eye  fell  then  on  theirs 
When  strangers  they  in  a  strange  far-off"  land. 
Yet  this  would  nothing  be  were  Hanan's  eye 
The  same,  his  tones  unchanged,  his  love  as  firm 
And  strong  as  when  he  poured,  by  Babel's  streams, 
Upon  my  ever-willing  ear,  those  hopes 
And  fears  and  vows  which  then  were  love. 

'T  is  gone  — 

Oh,  no,  it  is  not  gone,  that  cherished  love. 
My  heart  still  riseth  up,  and  pleads  for  his, 
Whene'er  a  doubt  intrudes.     Yet  passing  strange 
It  seems  that  he  so  often  now  doth  leave 
My  side,  nor  telleth  e'er,  why  thus  away  ; 
And  seems  as  pained  whene'er  I  speak  of  this. 
Why  may  I  not  his  troubles  share  ?     Ah  me  ! 
There  have  been  new-born  thoughts  my  soul  within, 
On  which  I  would  not  look  ;  and  whose  faint  cry 
I  stifled  quick.     They  tell  me  that  —  But  here 
He  comes,  and  now  himself  shall  tell  me  all. 

HANAN. 

Meena  —  at  this  late  hour  —  in  this  lone  spot ! 
Why  here  ?     I  bade  thee  wait  me  not.     Thy  couch 
Hath  long  awaited  thee.     The  shadows  fall 
Upon  thine  eyes,  and  their  bright  lustre  veil. 
The  hues  of  even-tide  with  thy  cheek's  glow 
Now  darkly  blend,  and  hide  from  me,  from  all, 
Thy  loveliness.     Now  to  thy  couch  —  for  though 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  291 

Thou  beauty  hast,  and  grace,  yet  both  increase 
With  day's  bright  beams,  and  I  will  look  on  thee, 
And  on  thy  babe,  with  morrow's  dawn. 

MEENA. 

Ha  nan  ! 

On  me,  and  on  my  babe,  why  not  now  look  ? 
From  us  why  turn  ?     But  I  to  ihee  must  speak 
Ere  my  couch  greeteth  me,  and  thou  must  hear, 
And  thou  must  speak  to  me  of  that  thy  heart 
Within  that  lieth  hid.     The  light  fond  wc;rds 
I  heard  but  now  are  not  the  ones  which  press, 
In  thy  full  heart,  for  utterance  first. 
At  times  like  this  such  trivial  words  weigh  down 
Upon  my  soul  more  than  the  heaviest  may. 
Now  tell  me,  in  this  midnight  hour,  with  stars 
Hung  brightening  o'er  us  both,  and  moonlight  calm 
In  all  the  air,  o'er  all  the  earth,  and  here 
Our  babe  in  happy  sleep  upon  my  knee  — 
Now  tell  me  solemn  words,  such  as  my  love, 
Earnest  and  fond  and  true,  hath  merited 
From  thee. 

HANAN. 

Meena  ;  affection,  such  as  thine, 
So  constant,  pure  and  deep,  should  win  for  thee 
Love  in  return  such  as  I  may  not  give. 
A  husband  is  not  all  I  've  been  to  thee, 
But  thy  divinity,  thy  god.     Such  love 
I  might  not  e'er  return,  except  with  one 
Which  would  be  falsehood  to  my  GOD.     I  may 
Not  now  be  true  to  HIM  and  thee.     Meena ; 
With  falsehood  to  my  GOD  I  too  am  false 


292  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

To  self  and  thee.     With  truth  to  HIM  I  still 

Am  true  to  all  on  earth.     From  me  shrink  not; 

But  let  thy  true  love  be  thy  strength. 

In  wedding  thee  I  sinned ;  but  to  persist 

In  wrong  can  ne'er  repair  the  fault.     And  now  — 

Amidst  the  jubilee  we  shout,  the  praise 

We  sing  for  Israel's  deliverance  — 

Ascend  the  notes  of  lamentation  deep 

In  that  we  turned  aside  from  Moses'  law, 

And  Abraham's  GOD.     We  sing  hosannas  loud 

That  we  from  bondage  now  are  free,  but  we 

Repent  with  prayer  and  sacrifice  for  sins 

Like  this,  and  earnestly  beseech  that  HE 

Will  turn  aside  His  wrath,  His  vengeance  spare, 

Though  we  have  sinned  so  fearfully  this  once ; 

Though  we  have  taken  aliens  to  our  sides, 

And  heathen  wives  unto  our  hearts.     Meena  ! 

'T  was  cruelty  to  thee  in  that  thy  love 

I  wooed,  yet  not  a  meditated  wrong. 

When  we  were  taken  captives  to  thy  land 

There  was  a  death  of  hopes — high  hopes,  that  thou 

Canst  ne'er  conceive.     We  by  our  GOD  were  now 

Forsook  ;  our  land  no  longer  ours  ;  our  homes 

To  strangers  all  were  given  —  Jerusalem 

Sat  like  a  widow  desolate,  in  tears. 

Then  Zion  mourned  upon  her  holy  hill  — 

We  'midst  the  Gentiles  dwelt  —  strangers  our  lords. 

And  yet  we  lived  —  on  us  the  morning  dawned  ; 

The  bright  sun  rose,  and  set,  and  rose  again. 

Night  came  with  darkness  wished,  and  then  away 

It  passed.     We  lived  —  but  still  to  us  no  life 

Was  in  our  life,  for  hope  and  joy  were  dead. 

'T  was  then  I  first  met  thee  :  I  was  alone. 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  293 

There  was  no  one  to  wish  me  joy,  or  strive 
To  share  my  woes.     The  daughters  of  our  race  — 
They  sat  them  down  by  Babel's  streams  and  wept ; 
Their  harps  upon  the  willows  hung  ;  their  songs 
Of  praise  were  mute.     Their  countenances  sad 
I  could  not  look  upon.     Yes,  then  I  saw 
Thee  first.     Thy  face  was  bright  with  hope  ; 
And  when  thy  smile  upon  the  captive  fell, 
'Twas  light  of  morn  to  him.     Sadness  at  times 
Was  on  thy  brow  ;  but  only  when  from  mine 
A  shadow  darkly  passed,  and  rested  there. 
But  then  how  soon  't  was  light  and  peace  again ! 
The  floweret  frail  looks  upward  to  the  sun  — 
And  the  bruised  reptile  seeks  the  softest  moss  — 
The  heart-pierced  bird  flies  to  his  downy  nest  — 
The  wounded  beast  hies  to  the  thicket's  shade. 
Thus  sought  I  thee  ;  my  heart  was  never  thine  — 
'T  was  in  Jerusalem  ;  and  in  the  void 
It  left  was  never  love,  but  thy  affection  there 
Was  as  a  roseate  veil  hung  o'er  a  recess  dark. 
And  how  I  prized  that  beauteous  shroud.     With  thee, 
As  in  a  fitful  dream,  passed  life  awhile  — 
And  then  I  woke.     Awoke  to  find  that  GOD, 
Our  Great  and  Holy  GOD,  still  cared  for  us  ; 
That  HE  would  turn  to  us,  if  we  would  but 
Return  to  HIM  —  that  all  past  promised  joys, 
And  blessings  great,  should  be  vouchsafed  to  us, 
If  we  His  law  would  still  obey,  and  still 
JEHOVAH  GOD  would  worship  and  adore. 
But  HE  a  sacrifice  will  ne'er  accept 
From  hands  unclean,  or  hearts  untrue. 
His  last  commandment  we  must  all  obey  — 
All  who  in  this  have  sinned,  and  wed  strange  wives, 
25* 


294  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

And  in  this  thing  have  sinfully  forgot 

The  daughters  of  Jerusalem.     This  day 

We  all  have  met,  confessed  our  wrong,  and  sworn 

To  put-from  us  what  in  His  sacred  eye 

Is  an  abomination  foul. 

MEENA. 

This  was  the  thought  I  would  not  think ; 
The  fear  I  would  not  dread  ;  the  ill  I  hoped 
Against  so  long.     The  mystery  is  solved. 
And  yet  it  was  not  this  ;  for  he,  who  thus 
Can  speak,  Hanan,  is  surely  never  thee. 
Thy  words  upon  mine  ear  have  fallen  now, 
And  yet  I  do  not  take  their  import  strange. 
Husband  !  I  dream  that  thou  hast  been  unkind. 
Forgive  ;  for  oh,  I  struggle  'gainst  the  dream. 
Speak,  love  ;  and  break  this  spell.     Support  me  — I  am 

stunned  — 

'T  will  soon  be  o'er,  and  I  will  smile  on  thee, 
And  dissipate  thy  gloom  ;  yes,  here,  in  thine 
Own  land,  how  happy  we  will  be. 

Yet,  no ! 

'T  is  not  a  dream.     She  who  upon  thy  breast 
Her  head  hath  laid,  is  now  "  strange  wife  "  —  her  love 
An  unclean  thing,  her  words  "  abomination  foul." 
And  thou  hast  never  loved  —  but  'twas  well  feigned, 
Or  I  was  very  weak.     You  sought  a  bride 
As  the  worn  traveller  takes  a  cordial  cup  ; 
Or  he  who  fain  would  sleep,  an  opiate  ; 
Or  as  the  Bacchanalian  seeks  his  wine  ; 
And  drew  affections  forth,  as  bright  skies  win 
The  new-fledged  birds,  to  send  them  back,  as  soiled 
And  wounded  things,  to  the  heart's  home  ;  now  left, 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  295 

By  the  rude  storm  o'erswept,  so  desolate. 

My  love  for  you  went  forth  as  morning  prayer, 

E'en  in  departure  bringing  purity  ; 

And  while  its  memory  will  ever  live 

Within  my  heart,  giving  each  word  its  tone, 

Each  look  its  woe,  each  dream,  by  night  or  day, 

The  all  of  which  our  dreams  are  ever  made, 

'T  will  nothing  be  to  thee.     Full  well  I  know 

'Twill  be  my  thought  at  morn,  my  word  at  noon, 

And  aye  at  eve  my  meditation  be. 

Mem'ry,  with  thee,  will  be  but  that  o'er  which 

To  reign  triumphantly  ;  yea,  to  exult 

As  when  beneath  thy  feet  a  scorpion 

Lies  crushed.     Hanan  !  if  thy  great  fearful  GOD 

Demands  of  thee  a  purer,  holier  love, 

Than  that  which  erst  has  blest  our  lives  — 

Has  he  for  thee  a  task,  which  better  is 

Than  to  make  happy  those,  whose  happiness 

Upon  thy  love  and  kindly  care  depends, 

Then  art  thou  now  forgiven  by  that  GOD. 

I  to  a  gentler  shrine  will  now  return. 

But  ah !  I  ne'er  can  kneel  as  I  have  knelt. 

I  ne'er,  until  I  gave  my  heart  to  thee, 

But  happiness  had  known.     Then  first  my  soul 

Felt  sadness,  like  soft  shadows,  o'er  it  steal, 

And  learned  to  love  the  fascinating  gloom. 

Kind  deeds,  like  summer  showers,  upon  thy  race 

Were  poured  by  me,  and  mine.    Thou  hadst  still  more. 

Thy  lofty  grief  my  heart  impressed  with  sense 

Of  high  and  rarest  worth.     For  thy  sad  lot 

I  mourned  —  such  pity  is  akin  to  love. 

Thy  converse  grave  my  admiration  won  ; 

And  soon  in  thee  I  worshipped  all  my  heart 


296  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

Had  pictured  forth  as  good,  and  great,  and  pure 

When  on  me  fell  the  shadow  of  thy  grief, 

It  changed  to  light  within  my  heart. 

And  then,  as  time  passed  on,  to  think  my  voice 

Alone  was  music  to  thine  ear  —  that  step 

Of  mine  was  waited  for  —  and  my  least  glance 

Was  to  thy  heart  as  sunshine  on  the  stream. 

To  know  I  linked  my  fate  with  one  as  dark 

As  thine  was  my  first  grief ;  my  first  true  joy 

Thou  knowest  that  mine  was  e'er  a  happy  lot 

In  that  first  home  —  how  I  was  loved,  admired, 

Caressed,  and  guarded  tenderly.     My  heart 

Was  sought  by  lovers  true,  of  mine  own  race, 

And  sought  in  vain.     My  love  for  them  was  like 

Some  merry  bird,  which  from  its  nest,  in  green 

And  fragrant  bowers,  may  not  be  wooed  —  but  still 

Amidst  its  blossoms  sings,  and  flutters  o'er 

The  hands  that  vainly  to  imprison  strive. 

My  love  for  thee  was  like  that  gentle  dove 

Of  which  I  've  heard  thee  speak  ;  which  left  the  ark, 

So  long  its  sheltering  home,  and  forth  it  went 

O'er  wild  and  stormy  waves.     At  first  a  leaf, 

An  olive  branch,  it  plucked  ;  and,  on  its  stem, 

A  promise  bright  it  saw  in  embryo  there. 

Full  soon  the  happy  bird  saw  mountain  heights, 

Then  forest  tops,  then  hills,  and  plains,  and  then 

The  waters  all  had  passed  away,  and  earth 

Again  was  beautiful,  and  bright,  and  new. 

The  bird  has  built  her  nest ;  and  a  sweet  one, 

A  tender  fledgling  there,  has  centred  all 

The  mother's  heart  within  that  little  spot. 

Shall  waves  of  bitterness  that  world  o'erflow, 

And  that  creation  new  a  flood  destroy  ? 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  297 

HANAN. 

Nay,  nay,  not  so !  the  boy  is  all  thine  own  — 

We  both  have  watched  with  joy  his  little  limbs 

Expand  —  have  waited  his  first  smile —  outvied 

Each  other  in  caresses  fond,  and  we 

Have  triumphed  in  his  infantile  exploits. 

Now  he  is  thine  —  all  thine  !  —  take,  take  him  hence  ; 

Let  him  love  thee,  and  only  thee  !  and  thou 

For  us  shalt  love  and  guard  and  cherish  him. 

MEENA. 

The  child  is  mine  —  there  is  then  in  my  night 
One  star,  and  oh,  how  bright  —  in  Life's  wild  waste 
One  sparkling  stream  —  one  verdant  spot  within 
A  desert  track.     Must  I  now  give  to  him 
The  all  of  love  I  Ve  felt  for  him  and  thee  ? 
Then  do  I  fear  that  I  may  love  too  well. 
Affection,  such  as  mine,  must  be  to  him 
Like  offerings  heaped  upon  an  altar  frail. 
May  they  not  crush  the  shrine.     He  's  like  a  bough, 
A  slender  withe,  o'er  which  luxuriantly 
A  vine  has  thrown  its  weight  of  tendrils  soft, 
And  clustering  fruit.     May  they  not  break  the  stem. 
Or  like  a  harp,  o'er  which  uneasy  fingers  pass, 
With  restless,  constant  sweep.     May  they  not  mar 
The  tones,  or  break  the  strings.     My  boy  !  my  boy ! 
From  my  excess  of  love,  mayst  thou  no  sufferer  be. 
But  to  be  wholly  mine,  and  all  that 's  mine  — 
Yet  I  am  not  deceived.     Hanan  ;  for  this 
I  thank  the  heathen  blood  that  in  these  veins 
Courses  its  way,  not  thee.     And  did  thy  GOD  require 
That  this  child's  blood  should  feed  his  altar  fire, 


298  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

These  limbs  upon  a  gory  shrine  would  soon  be  laid, 
And  I  by  thee  a  childless  widow  made. 
Farewell ! 

HANAN. 

Turn  not  away,  my  wife  !  —  the  night  is  dark, 
And  now  't  is  surely  time  to  seek  thy  rest : 
Let 's  to  our  home  and  couch. 

MEENA. 

Our  home  !  our  couch  ! 
Nay,  I  am  not  thy  wife  !     I  am  divorced ; 
And  oh ;  the  deed  is  thine.     Ne'er  at  thy  side 
Again  may  I  seek  rest  —  I  wish  not  sleep  — 
Israel  may  sleep,  and  dream  bright  gladsome  dreams  ; 
But  not  a  Persian  wife  or  mother  here 
Should  close  an  eye  this  night.     I  go  from  thee, 
To  those  who  now  are  partners  in  my  grief. 
Nay,  touch  me  not  —  not  one  embrace  —  but  thou 
JMayst  kiss  the  boy  —  there,  gently,  on  his  brow  ; 
And  where  thy  lips  in  this  embrace  shall  rest, 
There,  too,  in  coming  time  shall  mine  be  pressed. 
Hanan,  again  farewell ! 

HANAN. 

Yes,  she  is  gone  ! 

Of  all  I  swore  to  do  I  have  not  spared  — 
GOD  OF  MY  FATHERS  !    I  have  yielded  all 
A  sacrifice  to  thee.     Bless  THOU  the  deed. 
On  me,  and  all  who  with  me  greatly  sinned, 
And  have  with  me  repented  of  their  guilt, 
Pour  THY  rich  blessings  down.     Let  thine  eyes  look 


OF    THE    SEA    OF    GENIUS.  299 

With  favor  on  thy  servants  here,  and  smile 
Upon  Jerusalem.     Oh  let  her  glory  shine 
Unto  the  farthest  lands ;  and  people  of  all  climes 
Fear  us,  and  also  serve  and  worship  THEE. 
And  on  THY  servant,  LORD,  who  now  before 
THEE  kneels  in  humble  penitence,  look  down. 
Look  graciously,  Great  GOD  !     May  all  my  sins 
Forgotten  be,  and  blotted  from  THY  book. 
Bless  her,  whom  as  a  partner  I  shall  take  — 
One  now  who  as  her  GOD  will  worship  THEE. 
May  she  like  Rachel  loved  and  lovely  be  ; 
Like  Leah,  mother  of  a  household  band, 
As  many  olive-plants  around  her  home. 
And  from  my  loins  may  promised  Shiloh  come, 
To  whom  all  nations,  at  some  future  time, 
Shall  gathered  be.     Let  Him,  King  of  all  kings, 
Lord  of  all  earthly  lords,  Messiah  he, 
Of  thy  long-chosen  race,  thy  Israel  — 
GOD  OF  MY  FATHERS  !  let  me  parent  be 

of  Him,  Immanuel,  the  Holy  One 

But  what !  Meena !  hast  thou  returned  ? 

MEENA. 

I  left  thee  in  an  angry  mood,  or  one 
I  justly  feared  might  seem  as  such  to  thee. 
I  know  not  well  what  I  should  think  or  speak. 
But  I  would  e'er  be  kind,  nor  leave  with  thee 
The  memory  of  bitter  parting  words. 

I  looked  behind 

And  saw  thee  on  thy  knees  in  earnest  prayer, 
My  heart  quick  told  me  this,  that  thou  didst  plead 
For  me  and  mine  —  for  strength  to  bear  this  stroke 


300  SHELLS  FROM  THE  STRAND 

And  blessings  on  our  lot.     Unjust  to  thee 

I  will  not  ever  be  ;  and  will,  methink, 

That  e'en  in  this  thou  hast  been  true  to  HIM 

Whom  thou  hast  worshipped  e'er  —  true  to  thyself, 

The  Israelite  I  loved.     And  I  will  still 

Be  true  —  true  to  myself,  our  boy,  and  thee. 

No  ;  I  will  not  be  sad  — not  when  this  stroke, 

In  its  first  bitterness  and  pain  is  o'er. 

For  I  will  learn  to  smile  upon  my  boy, 

And  I  will  tell  him  of  his  father's  GOD, 

Of  Abraham's  faith,  of  Moses'  rites  and  law, 

Of  all  which  I  have  learned  in  life  with  thee ; 

And  if  it  meet  his  heart,  as  it  has  ne'er 

Met  mine,  and  he  shall  come  to  worship  here, 

And  kneel  beside  the  children  of  thy  wife, 

Thy  blessed  and  happier  wife  —  then  lay  thine  hand 

Upon  his  head,  and  from  a  father's  lips 

Let  a  rich  blessing  sink  into  his  heart, 

And  think,  think  kindly  once,  of  her  who  then 

Will  be  no  more. 


JANUARY  1,  1847. 

A  LIST  OF  BOOKS 

RECENTLY    PUBLISHED    BY 

JAMES   MUNROE   &  COMPANY, 

134  JHSfasjjmfltou,  ©pposftc  School  Street, 
BOSTON. 


POETRY,  &.C. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.     POEMS.    In  one  vol- 

ume,  16mo.  pp.  251.    Price 


CHARLES  T.  BROOKS.    HOMAGE  OF  THE  ARTS,  with 

MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES  from  RUCHERT,  FREILIGRATH,  and  other  Ger 
man  Poets.     In  one  volume,  16mo.  pp.  158.    Price  62  cents. 


EPES  SARGENT.     SONGS  OF  THE  SEA,  with  Poems 

and  Dramatic  Pieces.     In  one  volume,  ICnio.  pp. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.     POEMS,  Second 

Series.     In  one  volume,  ICmo.  pp.  168.    Price  62  cents. 


WILLIAM  THOMPSON  BACON.    POEMS.    One  vol- 

umo,  ICmo.  pp. 

VI. 

JOHN  PIERPONT.     AIRS  OF  PALESTINE,  with  Other 

POEMS.    In  one  volume,  16mo.    Steel  Plate,    pp.350.    Price  $1.00. 


JOHN  S.  DWIGHT.     Select  Minor  POEMS.     Trans- 

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volume,  12mo.  pp.  460.    Price  $1.00. 


A  LIST  OF   BOOKS  RECENTLY   PUBLISHED 


ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT.     POEMS.     One  vol- 

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CHARLES  T.  BROOKS.  SONGS  and  BALLADS.  Trans- 

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With  Notes.  12mo.  pp.  410.     Price  $1.00. 


CHARLES  T.  BROOKS.    WILLIAM  TELL,  a  Drama, 

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SCHILLER'S   WALLENSTEIN.      WALLENSTEIN'S 

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STEPHEN  G.  BULFINCH.     LAYS  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 

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THE  BONDMAID.     Translated  from  the  Swedish  by 

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LYDIA  H.  SIGOURNEY.     PLEASANT  MEMORIES  OF 

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n. 

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v. 

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VII. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS.     Including  a  CRITI- 

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SONGS  AND  BALLADS  from  Uhland,  Korner,  Bur- 

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ge 
by 


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LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  SAVIOUR.    THE  LAST  DAYS 

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HEINE'S  LETTERS.    Letters  Auxiliary  to  the  His- 

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F.  W.  P.  GREENWOOD.     Sermons  by  F.  W.  P. 

GREENWOOD.     Two  volumes.     Price  $2.00. 


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VENS   BUCKMINSTER,  with  a  Sketch  of  his  Life.     Two  vols. 
Price  $3.00. 


CRITICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS 

ESSAYS, 

BY  ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED  A  FEW  POEMS. 


JAMES  MUNROE  &  COMPANY  publish  and 
have  for  sale  the  First  Volume  of  Mr.  Everett's 
Essays,  published  a  year  since,  in  the  same  form 
and  size  as  the  edition  of  the  Second  Series,  this 
year  published.  The  volume  includes  the  follow 
ing  Essays. 

MADAME  DE  SEVIGNE  ;  WHO  WROTE  GIL  BLAS  ?  THE 
LIFE  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE  ;  THE  LIFE  AND 
WRITINGS  OF  SCHILLER  ;  GEOFFROY  ON  FRENCH  DRA 
MATIC  LITERATURE  ;  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  VOLTAIRE  ;  THE 
ART  OF  BEING  HAPPY  ;  THE  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF 
CANOVA  ;  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH  ;  CICERO  ON  GOV 
ERNMENT  ;  A  DIALOGUE  ON  GOVERNMENT  BETWEEN 
FRANKLIN  AND  MONTESQUIEU;  CHINESE  MANNERS; 
THE  SABBATH. 

The  same  volume  contains  the  following  Po 
ems  ;  —  which  are  also  published  separately  by 
J.  M.  &  Co. 

THE  HERMITAGE,  an  Eastern  Tale.  THE  GRECIAN  GOSSIPS, 
from  Theocritus.  THE  EXILE'S  LAMENT,  from  Virgil. 
SCENES  FROM  GOETHE'S  FAUST.  THE  WORTH  OF  WO 
MAN,  from  Schiller.  THE  SPECTRAL  BRIDEGROOM,  from 
Burger.  THE  WATER  KING.  THE  PORTRESS.  THE 
MAID  OF  OBERLAND.  THE  FIFTH  OF  MAY,  from  Man- 
zoni.  ENIGMA.  THE  DIRGE  OF  LARRA,  from  Zorilla. 
THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  THE  FUNERAL  OF  GOETHE, 
by  Harro  Harring. 


EVERETT'S  MISCELLANIES,  FIRST  SERIES. 

[From  the  Christian  Examiner.] 

*  *  *  "  This  volume  is  meant  to  preserve  in  a  permanent 
form  the  contributions  whidh  Mr.  Everett  has  made  to  the  peri 
odical  literature  of  his  country.  A  part  of  the  interest  which 
attaches  to  such  papers  on  their  first  appearance,  must  neces 
sarily  cease  with  the  lapse  of  time  ;  yet  there  is  a  peculiar 
pleasure  in  recurring,  after  a  writer  has  established  a  wide  and 
sure  reputation,  to  his  earlier  or  more  ephemeral  productions. 
*  *  *  The  volume  contains,  we  believe,  only  the  smaller 
portion  of  the  articles  with  which  Mr.  Everett  has  enriched  our 
critical  literature.  The  public,  we  suppose,  are  less  familiar 
with  his  name  as  a  poet  than  as  a  writer  of  prose.  We  are 
glad,  however,  to  meet  the  productions  of  his  muse  in  compan 
ionship  with  his  Miscellaneous  Essays.  The  volume  will  be 
welcomed  by  the  public  as  embodying  some  of  the  choicest 
pages  of  our  literary  journals,  and  we  hope  that  the  writer  may 
be  induced  soon  to  give  us  one  or  more  additional  volumes." 


[From  (he  Democratic  Revieiv.] 

"  Mr.  Everett  is  one  of  that  class  of  men,  the  growth  of  thirty 
continuous  years  of  comparative  peace,  now  enjoyed  by  Chris 
tendom,  who,  to  eminent  natural  endowments  and  high  literary 
cultivation,  add  the  qualities  and  the  distinction  of  a  practical 
statesman.  For,  if  the  great  nations  of  Europe  and  America 
have,  some  of  them,  been  more  or  less  engaged,  during  the 
present  generation,  in  conflict  with  the  barbarian  or  semi-civilized 
races  around  them,  —  and  if  others  have  seen  their  own  soil 
stained  by  civil  bloodshed,  — yet  they  have  been  withheld  from 
mutual  hostilities,  until  the  empire  of  the  Voice  and  the  Pen 
has  almost  superseded  that  of  the  Sword  ;  and  Mind  has  found 
a  nobler  and  more  congenial  field  of  ambition  in  the  arts  and 
accomplishments  of  Peace,  rather  than  of  War.  Thus  it  is, 
that,  to  names  like  those  of  Lord  John  Russell  and  Macaulay 
in  England,  or  Guizot  and  Thiers  in  France,  we  may,  on  our 
part,  point  to  those  of  Bancroft,  of  Irving,  and  of  the  two 
Everetts,  as  alike  conspicuous  in  literature  and  in  public  life. 

"  Known  a1  ready  by  his  grave  and  elaborate  works  on  Europe 


EVERETT'S  MISCELLANIES,  FIRST  SERIES. 


and  America,  Mr.  Everett  will  acquire  additional  reputation  by 
this  collection  of  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays.  Familiar 
with  the  languages  and  the  literature  of  modern  as  of  ancient 
Europe,  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  principles  of  a  pure  and 
correct  taste,  possessed  of  a  discriminative  and  exact  judgment, 
and  with  a  style  at  once  vigorous,  clear,  expressive,  and  fault 
lessly  elegant,  Mr.  Everett  has,  in  this  volume,  laid  before  us  a 
series  of  most  instructive  and  agreeable  literary  disquisitions,  on. 
Sevigne,  Le  Sage,  St.  Pierre,  Corneille,  Racine,  Voltaire, 
Canova,  Schiller,  Mackintosh,  and  Cicero,  among  other  sub 
jects;  and,  in  a  small  collection  of  fugitive  pieces  subjoined  to 
the  Essays,  has  shown  that  he  is  a  successful  worshipper  of  the 
poetic  Muse. 

*  *  *  *  "In  conclusion,  we  have  to  express  the  high 
gratification  we  have  received  from  the  reperusal  of  these  Es 
says,  in  collecting  which  from  the  periodical  works  in  which 
they  originally  appeared,  and  thus  rendering  them  more  ac 
cessible  to  the  general  reader,  the  publishers  have  done  a  ser 
vice  to  the  literary  community,  as  in  the  correspondent  cases  of 
Mr.  Macaulay's  and  Mr.  Prescott's  '  Miscellanies ;  '  and  we 
trust  the  same  good  office  will  be  performed  ere  long  in  behalf 
of  similar  writings  of  Mr.  Edward  Everett,  and  other  contribu 
tors  to  the  periodical  literature  of  the  United  States." 

[From  the  Southern  Quarterly  Review.] 

"  We  have  derived  great  pleasure  from  the  perusal  of  this 
book,  and  we  mean  to  speak  of  it  as  we  think  it  deserves.  It 
is  possible  that  a  few  readers  may  think  that  we  go  too  far  ; 
but  even  they  will  not  doubt  our  sincerity,  when  we  confess 
that  we  were  over  two  months  reading  it,  without  growing 
weary  of  our  task.  It  certainly  argues  something  in  favor  of 
an  author,  in  these  days  of  rail-road  speed,  that  one  should  be 
content  to  keep  his  book  at  his  side,  and  travel  slowly  through 
it,  every  day  soiling  the  edge  of  a  few  more  pages,  with  the 
pressure  of  his  glove  ;  and  it  takes  but  little  from  the  value  of 
the  compliment,  to  acknowledge,  that  during  this  time  we  were 
wandering  through  a  beautiful  country,  and  had  but  little  time 
to  read. 


10  EVERETT'S  MISCELLANIES,  FIRST  SERIES. 

"  When  our  trunk  was  first  packed,  this  book  shared  a  cor 
ner,  with  a  half  dozen  other  volumes,  but  after  a  while,  it  had 
the  corner  to  itself.  One  by  one  the  others  fell  away,  some 
were  given  to  friends,  others  were  forgotten  upon  leaving  a 
steamboat,  or  a  coach,  or  a  rail-road  car,  and  now,  upon  our 
return,  this  volume  lies  upon  the  desk,  as  the  solitary  memorial 
of  our  wanderings."  *  *  *  * 

"  It  consists  of  essays  or  reviews,  contributed  during  the  last 
twenty  years  to  various  periodicals.  In  the  course  of  them,  our 
author  treats  in  an  interesting  and  instructive  way,  of  several 
important  matters,  such  as  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Madame 
deSevigne,  Bernaidinde  St.  Pierre,  Schiller,  Voltaire,  Canova, 
Sir  James  Mackintosh,  and  Cicero  ;  he  almost  settles  the  dis 
puted  point,  that  Le  Sage  did  not  write  Gil  Bias  ;  he  gives  an 
amusing  picture  of  Chinese  manners  ;  teaches,  in  a  happy  man 
ner,  the  art  of  being  happy,  and  concludes  the  first  part  of  his 
Miscellanies  with  some  beautiful  remarks  upon  the  Sabbath."  *  * 

"  At  the  end  of  the  volume  we  have  fourteen  interesting 
Poems,  which  show  that  Everett,  in  the  midst  of  his  various 
and  pressing  engagements,  has  still  found  time  to  refresh  his 
spirits  with  a  draught  from  Helicon." 


"  Many  will  welcome  the  appearance  of  this  volume,  preserv 
ing,  as  it  does,  some  of  the  best  articles  which  have  ever  ap 
peared  in  our  periodicals.  Before  they  were  thus  collected, 
they  must  have  been  sought  with  difficulty  from  among  the 
mass  of  contemporaneous  writings,  and  at  last  might  have  been 
overlooked  and  forgotten.  The  author  is  but  doing  justice  to 
his  own  fame  when  he  brings  together  these  scattered  Essays 
and  Criticisms,  each  of  them  possessing  individual  interest  and 
attraction  of  a  high  order,  which  is  enhanced  by  their  appear 
ance  together  in  a  neat  and  permanent  form.  Some  of  the 
articles  found  in  this  volume  bear  the  dates  of  1820,  '21,  and 
'23,  and  of  course  are  new  to  many  of  this  day,  who  will  be 
come  acquainted  with  them  for  the  first  time  in  their  present 
dress  ;  and  to  those  who  read  them  at  the  period  when  they 
first  appeared,  it  will  be  equally  interesting  to  revive  the  ini- 


EVERETT'S  MISCELLANIES,  FIRST  SERIES.  11 

pression  they  then  produced.  The  Poems  are  mostly  trans 
lations  or  imitations  of  foreign  poets  ;  but  we  recognize  a 
beautiful  '  Enigma,'  and  some  noble  stanzas  entitled  '  The 
Young  American,'  which  first  appeared  in  the  Democratic  Re 
view.  This  volume  is  published  in  beautiful  style  by  James 
Munroe  &  Company." — Salem  Gazette. 


"  To  praise  Mr.  Everett's  writings  would  be  superfluous.  He 
ranks  as  one  of  the  most  profound  students  and  elegant  writers 
whom  our  country  affords.  His  opportunities  for  gaining  ex 
tensive  and  varied  information  have  been  as  well  improved  as 
they  have  been  great  and  uncommon  for  a  citizen  of  this  Re 
public.  His  style  is  suited  to  the  subject  which  he  has  occasion 
to  treat :  at  times,  strong  and  powerful ;  at  others,  light  and 
humorous  ;  but  always  elegant  and  interesting.  The  volume 
before  us  is  a  valuable  contribution  to  our  literature.  It  would 
not  be  inappropriate  as  a  New  Year  present  to  a  literary  friend." 
—  Springfield  Republican. 

*  *  *  *  it  We  make  another  extract  from  an  agreeable 
review  of  a  collection  of  Chinese  novels.  At  the  present  time, 
when  the  mysteries  of  the  Chinese  Empire  are  but  just  open 
ing  to  us,  this  sketch  of  a  remarkable  feature  of  their  very  curi 
ous  literature,  will  attract  general  attention.  Their  civilization 
is  at  the  least  not  behind  that  of  the  West  in  the  luxuries  of 
novel  reading  and  writing.  It  seems  that  they  are  as  fully  sup 
plied  with  '  light  and  cheap  literature '  as  we  are. 

"Three  articles,  on  graver  subjects,  comprise  the  greater  part 
of  the  rest  of  the  prose  of  the  volume.  These  are  a  criticism 
on  Cicero's  Republic,  an  article  on  Sir  James  Mackintosh's 
Life  and  Writings,  and  a  '  Dialogue  of  the  Dead,'  between 
Franklin  and  Montesquieu,  on  the  principles  which  should  be 
consulted  in  the  formation  of  Representative  Governments.  Mr. 
Everett's  personal  acquaintance  with  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  fur 
nishes  an  interesting  part  of  the  material  for  the  second  of  these 
articles. 

"  Some  of  the  Poems  have  never  been  published  until  now, 
and  few  of  them  have  been  published  in  such  form  as  to  bring 
them  into  general  knowledge. 


EVERETT'S  MISCELLANIES,  FIRST  SERIES. 


"  The  book  more  than  equals  the  anticipations  which  we  ex 
pressed  in  regard  to  it  some  weeks  since.  We  feel  that  that  is 
a  valuable  addition  to  our  libraries  which  rescues  such  essays 
from  the  neglect  into  which  all  periodical  publications  fall  after 
their  first  issue.  It  would  seem  that  the  whole  volume  has  un 
dergone  a  careful  revision."  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


"  These  selections  are  made  from  Mr.  Everett's  contributions 
to  the  North  American  and  Democratic  Reviews,  and  other  pe 
riodicals. 

"  Mr,  Everett's  talents  and  ability  as  an  Essayist  have  been  long 
tested  and  generally  acknowledged,  and  we  trust  that  the  sale 
of  this  volume  will  be  sufficient  to  encourage  the  author  to 
make  another  selection  from  his  many  valuable  articles  yet  un- 
collected,  and  to  furnish  them  for  the  public  in  a  similar  form." — 
Salem  Register. 

"  Mr.  Alexander  H.  Everett  is  one  of  the  best  of  American 
scholars,  thoroughly  versed  in  classical  literature,  and  exten 
sively  familiar  with  the  mind  of  the  present  age,  in  its  every 
variety  of  situation  and  production.  No  man  writes  better  prose 
than  he.  His  style  is  always  strong,  clear,  and  elevated  ;  and 
with  him  language  is  ever  but  a  vehicle  of  thought  —  and 
thought,  too,  that  is  important  to  be  conveyed,  because  of  its 
own  intrinsic  worth." — Worcester  Palladium. 


The  Second  Volume  of  Mr.  Everett's  Essays  is  just  now 
published  by  JAMES  MONROE  &,  CO.  Contents  :  — 
HARRO  HARRING,  a  Biographical  Sketch  ;  MADAME  DE 
STAEL  ;  MUSAEUS'S  POPULAR  TALES  ;  IRVING'S  COLUM 
BUS;  DE  GERANDO'S  HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY  ;  GREEN- 
OUGH'S  STATUE  OF  WASHINGTON  ;  STEWART'S  PHILOSO 
PHY  ;  LIFE  OF  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU  ;  HAVANA  ; 
HISTORY  OF  INTELLECTUAL  PHILOSOPHY  ;  LORD  VAPOR- 
CO  UUT. 


A     000685016     8 


